


Finding the Forest

by ACertainZest



Category: Castle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Cabin Fic, F/M, Mother Nature Being an Asshole, Pre-Series, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9155404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACertainZest/pseuds/ACertainZest
Summary: (AU pre-series meeting) Rick Castle goes on a writing retreat and meets a mysterious stranger. Inspired by a prompt from the castlefanficprompts tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

"Have you seen any bears yet, Daddy?"

"No, pumpkin," Rick Castle chuckled into the phone. "I don't think there are bears in this area. Don't worry about it."

He stood on the porch of the little rental cabin, looking out over the lawn and the lake beyond, and the forest beyond that. The sun had gone down a while ago, and the last streaks of pink and purple in the sky were fading to deep dark blue.

"Okay," his daughter's voice said into his ear, "but be careful. If you see a bear, leave it alone."

"I will," he promised, smiling. "No poking the bears, check."

"And don't forget to eat something nutritious every day."

"I'm supposed to be saying that to you," he protested mildly. "Make sure your mom buys milk, and puts you to bed at a reasonable hour."

"She will. We'll be fine," Alexis said confidently. "You take care of yourself, Daddy. Don't make any trouble."

"I'm going to be fine too, honey. Don't worry about me, just have fun with your mother and I'll see you in a week."

"Okay. Love you, Daddy."

"Love you too. Bye."

He stepped back through the cabin's screen door to hang up the telephone receiver in its wall cradle. The spiral cord immediately twisted itself into a hopeless tangle, which made Rick smile. It was so delightfully last century.

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it off. It couldn't get any reception up here, and that was fine with him.

He blinked bleary eyes as he moved through the cabin's spacious living room and into the attached kitchen area. It wasn't all that late, but it had been a long drive up from the city: supposed to be three hours, but in reality closer to five with all the traffic. Mostly leaf-peepers and apple-pickers, he supposed; the Columbus Day holiday weekend was a big one for those popular autumn activities. Maybe he should bring Alexis up here for that, some year.

Stifling a yawn, he looked quickly through the cupboards. There wasn't much: cooking oils and spices, a few canned goods, some bottled water. Ground coffee and sugar in hard plastic containers to keep out the mice. But, as promised, he found a loaf of bread in the freezer and a jar of peanut butter in the fridge. That would be enough for tonight, and he'd go shopping in the morning.

He thawed two slices of bread in the toaster, made his sandwich, and ambled back out onto the porch to admire the fading view.

This rustic little cabin in the middle of the woods was a very different kind of peaceful from his luxurious Hamptons house. At this time of night, it was dark and quiet, the day's warmth quickly giving way to a pleasant chill in the air. On the other side of the lake he could dimly see the lights of other houses, and could hear faint voices drifting across the water, but they only served to accentuate the deep quiet of the forest. The same was true of the crickets' chirping and the occasional heartfelt croak from an unseen bullfrog. And the gentle sound of the lake lapping against its banks felt a world removed from the vast, ceaseless roar of the ocean that he was accustomed to at the Hamptons.

He could almost feel himself itching to write a paean to all this wild natural glory, and he shook his head ruefully, laughing at himself. "Get a grip, Rick. You're no Thoreau," he said aloud. He must be punchy from the long day.

But yes, this place was perfect. The very things that made it so different from his usual retreat were exactly what he needed, he thought, to kick-start his writing; to get some new stories flowing. A fresh setting, a fresh perspective.

He stuffed the last of the peanut-butter sandwich into his mouth and went back inside, latching the screen door and closing and locking the inner door as well.

He had already wheeled his suitcase into the larger of the cabin's two bedrooms. Now he dug through it for his toiletry case and went into the bathroom to wash up.

A few short minutes later, he was sliding into the king-size bed, and just a few minutes after that, he was asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Rick was pulled up out of a deep sleep by a symphony of birdsong and the insistent touch of a sunbeam on his face. Groaning, he blinked his eyes open and discovered that in his exhausted stupor the night before he had neglected to close the blinds. And the bedroom had a window that faced east.

Well, he was awake now; so be it.

After performing his morning ablutions and getting dressed, he wandered back to the kitchen and concocted a cup of coffee from the grounds in the cabinet. It was adequate - although he made a mental note to get some better coffee as soon as possible - and he sipped it slowly as he wandered around the cabin, taking in all the little details he'd been too tired to look at last night.

The guy who owned the place, Jim, hadn't told Rick much about it except for the bare details, and his property manager - a fancy term for a local guy who was paid a stipend to handle logistics - hadn't been much more forthcoming. But it was clear from looking at the cabin that this had once been a family's weekend retreat: a place where a couple might come frequently throughout the summer with their kids, to get away from the city, and to swim, fish, hike, and so forth.

Rick had tried, delicately, to pry some details out of the property manager - Ben Garrison, a laconic man a few years older than Rick, with calloused hands and a gruff demeanor, who owned a farm a few towns over. Ben was the perfect model for a farmer character, right down to the grubby denim overalls and big bushy beard. But below the surface, of course, there was always more to a person than the stereotype: Ben had, among other things, a sharp mind for business. It was he who had convinced Jim to put in laundry facilities and wifi at the cabin for the convenience of his renters. "He ain't got the electricity upgraded yet," Ben had added, "but long as you don't try to run the laundry an' fridge at the same time, you'll be okay." Rick had studied the farmer's bland expression and decided, tentatively, that this was a joke.

But when he asked about Jim - whom he had only met once, and found him meek and barely sober - Ben had been less than forthcoming. The most he would say was that Jim "ain't been the same since his wife passed." That had been about four years ago, Ben reckoned, but he would say no more. "I don't gossip, Mr. Castle." And Rick had taken the hint and dropped the subject.

Now, seeing the place, he began to form his own impressions of the man who owned it. If Rick had to guess, he'd say that Jim probably couldn't bear coming here any more, being surrounded by reminders of his late wife. But he also couldn't bring himself to sell it, so renting it out by the week was a compromise of sorts.

Besides, if Rick was any judge, the man was probably hard-up for money to support his drinking habit. The poorly concealed eagerness with which he had accepted Rick's request for a late-in-the-season rental spoke volumes.

The cabin's decor was not exactly a shrine to days and people gone by, but there were plenty of homey touches that almost certainly had some ancient sentimental significance. A well-worn quilt square hanging on the wall; an amateurish sculpture of an owl on the sideboard. And, on the mantelpiece, a collection of family photos. Rick stood and studied them for a long moment, sipping his coffee.

Some of the photos included Jim, who in his younger, healthier incarnation was barely recognizable as the withered older man Rick had met. Grief had clearly taken its toll.

A dark-haired woman smiled beside him in some of the shots, or smiled up at the camera alone, her eyes twinkling, her vivacious spirit almost leaping off the paper. This had to be the wife. And in many of the photos she had her arm around a young girl.

Jim hadn't mentioned a daughter, nor had Ben, but whom else could this possibly be? She was there throughout the cabin, Rick noticed now: a baby picture on the wall in the rear hallway, a toddler on the wall outside the kitchen, a gap-toothed tomboy holding up a freshly caught fish in a picture taped up next to the fridge. And on the mantel, she was a little older - early teens, perhaps - smiling gamely next to her mother, her shoulders stooped with adolescent self-consciousness.

Rick peeked into the cabin's second bedroom, which was smaller and plainer than the one he had slept in. It contained little more than a full-size bed, a dresser, a bedside table, and a single uncomfortable-looking wooden chair. Like in the bigger bedroom, the artwork on the walls was generic: nature scenes, a National Geographic calendar. This must have been where the daughter slept when the family came up here for their weekends away, but if the room had ever held any of her personal touches, they were long gone.

Rick was a writer, so of course he couldn't resist drifting over to the bookcase in the main room to check out the offerings. The shelves held a jumbled assortment of battered paperbacks: Jane Austen, Stephen King, Margaret Atwood, John Grisham - and, to his surprise, a couple of his own older titles as well. He picked up _A Rose For Everafter_ and thumbed through it, wondering where it had come from.

Had the pragmatic Ben planted these books here after learning that Rick would be renting the place? Or had they been here already, belonging to the daughter, or to one of the parents? Jim Beckett hadn't seemed to recognize Rick, neither his face nor his name, when they met; hadn't given any indication of being aware of who Richard Castle was. Maybe these books were just random thrift-store purchases that Ben had put in the room so the shelves wouldn't look bare.

Rick replaced the book on the shelf and wandered across the room to look at the family pictures above the fireplace again.

He wondered why neither Jim nor Ben had said anything about the daughter. Had she died along with her mother? Surely Ben would have mentioned that. If the daughter was still alive, how old was she now? Old enough to recognize her father's drinking problem, and, perhaps, run away from it?

He shook his head, chiding himself. There he went again, making up stories for real people whom he didn't even know at all. It was none of his business, but he couldn't help it. He had always been fascinated by people's stories.

Grabbing his keys, jacket, and wallet, he left the coffee cup in the sink and headed out.

* * *

It was a fifteen-minute drive into the nearest town, mostly over bumpy and bouncy country roads. Rick was glad for the smooth, reliable suspension in his Mercedes. Following Ben's meticulously typed directions, he easily found his way to the grocery store and stocked up on supplies for the next week or so.

After loading the groceries into the car, he decided to stroll along the town's main street for a few minutes. It was a crisp, clear October morning, the overnight chill quickly dissipating as the sun warmed the pavement. Other pedestrians smiled and nodded at him, and he smiled and nodded back, enjoying the small-town ambience.

Near the end of the business district, he found a diner and decided to stop in for another cup of coffee. Maybe, he told himself, there would be a stereotypical waitress: the kind who is old enough to be your grandma, sounds like Bea Arthur, calls everyone honey, and knows all the gossip about everyone and everything in the area.

Much to his delight, there was exactly such a person waiting tables in the tiny diner. Her nametag said Linda, and she recognized him immediately.

"Morning, honey. You're Richard Castle, ain't ya? Coffee?"

"Yes, please," he answered, sliding onto a stool at the counter, "and yes, I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Linda."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, snorting as she poured his coffee. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Well, you wouldn't lose that bet. But I can already tell that you're special," he shot back, winking. She burst into raucous laughter and reached across the counter to thump him on the shoulder.

"You're a smooth one, Mr. Castle. Don't let my husband hear ya talkin' like that." She took a notepad and pencil from the pocket of her apron. "Eggs, bacon, home fries, toast?"

"Sounds great."

He sat with his coffee - which was excellent - and did some covert people-watching while Linda put in his order and served a few other customers. Eventually she made her way back over to him.

"Ya got a new book out, hon?"

"Yes, actually," he nodded, "my latest just hit the shelves a couple of weeks ago. Are you a big fan, Linda?"

"The books're pretty good," she allowed. "That Storm fellow sure gets himself into some messes."

"Well, yeah. That's what makes good drama, right?"

"Drama, he says," the waitress chuckled, refilling his cup. "Izzat what brings you up here to our little nothing of a town? Looking for drama?"

"Oh, not really." He shrugged. "I'm just up here for a, um, a writing retreat. You know, get away from the city, some peace and quiet."

"Mm-hmm." Linda nodded. "Well, you'll find plenty a' that up at the Beckett place. That's where you're staying, ain't it? Nice and quiet up that way."

"Yes, it is." He seized on the conversational opening. "So, you know him? Jim Beckett?"

"Oh, sure. Everyone knows everyone around here." And, to his carefully concealed delight, she took the bait. "Such a shame about what happened. A real shame."

Rick deliberately put on his most sympathetic, curious expression. "I heard that something had happened to his wife?"

Linda leaned in closer, her eyes widening theatrically, and in a loud whisper said just one word: "Murdered."

Rick felt his eyebrows leap skyward. "Really?" He hadn't seen that coming.

"Yep." Linda nodded emphatically. "Stabbed to death in an alley in Manhattan. Random gang violence, they said."

"That's terrible," he murmured, feeling the weight of it settle on him. Suddenly Jim Beckett's defeated demeanor made a lot more sense.

"Poor Jim ain't been the same since," Linda went on, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. "Hardly ever comes up here any more. Guess there's just too many memories, you know?"

"I can imagine," Rick nodded. Carefully casual, he added, "And the daughter, what about her?"

"Katie?" He watched over a forkful of eggs as Linda leaned against the counter, her forehead creasing. "Haven't seen hide nor hair of her either. She was off at college when it happened, transferred back to NYU afterward to be closer to Jim, but then ... What I hear, she and Jim had a falling out. Don't know what it was about."

"Hmm," Rick said noncommittally, taking another bite, nodding along with the story. Linda needed little encouragement to continue.

"I guess Katie must have graduated by now, if she stayed in school. She must be, what, twenty-three, twenty-four. But we ain't seen her up here since her mom died, and far as I know, she and Jim haven't spoken to each other in years."

"That's too bad," Rick said quietly. He was dying to ask for more details, but his gut was telling him that he had pushed enough already. So he said no more, just finished off the last of his breakfast and drained his coffee cup.

The sight of him tipping the cup up to his lips broke Linda out of her reminiscence. "More coffee, hon?" she asked, lifting the pot, but he shook his head.

"Thanks, but that's my limit. I should get back to it." He pulled out his wallet and put down a twenty-dollar bill. "It's been a true pleasure talking to you, Linda."

"Likewise," she agreed. "Come on back any time."

"I will," he promised. "I'm staying at the cabin for a week, and I'm sure I'll be back in town at some point."

"Enjoy the quiet, hon. I hope you've got everything you need for the weather up there."

He paused in the act of putting his jacket back on. "The weather? What, you mean like snow?"

"Oh, no." The waitress coughed out a hoarse laugh. "Snow, this early in the year? No, dear. Rain, I meant rain. Big storm due in, from what they're saying. And if that road leading up to the Beckett house washes out, you'll be stuck in there at least through middle a' next week. Ain't no one coming in or out of that road if it floods."

"Oh." Rick zipped up his jacket and shrugged. "Well, I've got enough food and my laptop, so I think I'll manage. Thanks for the warning though."

He waited until Linda had gone back into the kitchen, then slipped another twenty-dollar bill under his plate and departed.

* * *

Rick drove back to the cabin, unloaded the groceries, and then stood on the porch again, looking around.

With Linda's warning about flooding in mind, he noticed that the cabin and its lawn were somewhat elevated; the driveway leading up from the road sloped upward, and the wide grassy lawn sloped slightly downward again to the lake. So, even if the road flooded, the cabin should stay dry, he thought.

Looking at the way the lawn rolled gently down to the shore also made him think about the zombie apocalypse. He pictured zombies chasing him across that lawn and up to the edge of the water. He, of course, would plunge right in. Or would he take the time to grab the rowboat and oars? Could zombies swim, he wondered? He couldn't immediately think of a zombie apocalypse movie that had addressed this crucial question. Something to mention to Wes Craven the next time they spoke.

He walked down the four steps from the porch, and strolled across the lawn and down to the edge of the lake.

There was a sturdy-looking wooden dock extending out into the water, the small rowboat lying upside down on the grass, and a tiny shed that passed for a boathouse. He kicked off his shoes and waded into the water up to his ankles. It was cold enough to make him gasp, and he hopped quickly back onto the grass, shivering.

Okay, no swimming, then. Unless pursued by zombies. Or maybe the water would warm up later in the day.

He stood for a moment admiring the view. The leaves had begun to turn, and the trees surrounding the cabin and lining the perimeter of the lake made a gorgeous pointillist portrait in yellows, oranges, reds, and browns, with still a fair bit of green remaining as well. The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant blue, just a few cottony white clouds drifting calmly along. It was like a postcard. "Upstate New York In Autumn."

It was hard to believe that a big rainstorm such as Linda had described was on the way, but he had seen even in the city how the weather could turn on a dime. So he had better make the most of the nice day while he still could.

He went back inside to get his notebook and pen, and spent a few hours sitting on the grass, working on the outline for the next Derrick Storm book, jotting down ideas for future books or separate stories, sketching out scenes and snippets of dialogue. Occasionally he got up to stretch and wander around. He resisted the urge to get his laptop and begin transferring his notes onto it; that could wait until later, when getting distracted by the internet wouldn't break him out of the zone.

At last his writing hand began to cramp and his stomach to grumble, so he went back inside and was surprised to find that it was well past noon. He put together a sandwich with cold cuts and cheese and vegetables that he had bought earlier, and ate it on the porch with a glass of lemonade.

Finished with his lunch, he surveyed the supplies he had bought and decided to make a lasagna for dinner. Chopping and sautéing the vegetables, cooking the sauce, and layering everything in the pan was a soothing exercise that allowed his mind to wander; he stopped several times during the process to grab his notebook and jot down new ideas, or topics to research on the internet.

When the lasagna was ready, he put it into the fridge, to be baked later.

Just as he was closing the refrigerator door, he saw a bright flash from outside, followed shortly by a tremendous boom of thunder. Turning, he realized to his surprise that while he'd been occupied with the food, the bright sunny day had turned dark and foreboding. Ominous dark-gray clouds now filled the sky, and the trees were whipping back and forth in a strong wind.

Rick went to the window to make sure he'd closed up the car. Fortunately, he had, because just as he got to the window, the rain began. Within seconds his view of the driveway, the lawn, and the lake beyond was almost completely obscured by the driving rain.

Another bolt of lightning stabbed down, illuminating everything in brilliant white for a heartbeat, leaving him blinking dazzled eyes. Then the thunder cracked again, an earth-rattling sound that felt like the sky was being ripped in two.

Rick was mesmerized by the storm. He watched in awe for a few minutes as the lightning and thunder continued, and the rain poured down unrelentingly, and the wind battered the trees.

Eventually, the thunder began to grow fainter, the lightning more diffuse, and there was a longer delay between each flash and its accompanying boom. But the rain didn't let up, continuing to pound on the rooftop of the little cabin. It was only midafternoon, but the dark and the rain made it feel late at night.

The situation seemed to call for hot cocoa, so Rick went back to the kitchen again and made a pot of it. He poured himself a cup, added marshmallows, and settled in on the cabin's sofa, pulling a comfortably worn-out throw blanket over himself. He spent a few minutes just sitting there, listening to the rain. It was soothing and cozy. He imagined having Alexis here, snuggled up under the blanket with him, her own cup of cocoa in hand, wriggling and giggling as he told her a scary story while the rain and thunder raged outside.

Then he imagined having a different female under the blanket, and a different kind of wriggling. He was thinking about Gina, his editor's new assistant at Black Pawn Publishing. They had slept together a few times, and he was pretty sure she was just using him to get ahead, but he didn't really care. She was hot, and it was all in good fun. He wondered whether Gina would like marshmallows in her cocoa, and whether she would want to snuggle under the blanket or just slide down onto her knees on the floor and...

A new rumble sounded from outside the cabin, and he paused his daydream, frowning. He hadn't seen a flash of lightning, and that didn't sound like thunder, anyway. It was a continuous throaty growl, low and throbbing, cutting through the insistent patter of the rain.

And then it stopped.

Rick sat utterly still, his ears straining to catch the sound again. He suddenly felt uncomfortably like a character in a horror movie, the quiet and isolation of the cabin abruptly less peaceful and more perilous. Telling himself that it was just his overactive imagination playing tricks on him was somehow not helping.

Now a new sound crept into his awareness: a sort of metallic scratching. With a thrill of dread he recognized it as the sound of a key in the lock.

He sat up slowly, placing his cocoa cup on the coffee table and looking around desperately for something, anything, that could serve as a weapon. His eye fell on the fireplace poker, and he hesitated for another crucial moment, appalled by the sheer cliché of it all.

Before he managed to get himself into motion to reach for the poker, the door flung open. Rick leapt up from the sofa, his heart pounding, the throw blanket still hanging from his body.

There in the doorway stood a young woman. She wore a black leather jacket and jeans that were probably skin-tight even when not wet, but now they were completely soaked, along with the rest of her. Dark brown hair was plastered against her head and dripping rainwater into her eyes, which were hazel and currently wide with shock.

For a long moment they both stood completely still, staring at each other, and it was impossible to say which of them was more flummoxed. The rain continued to beat against the cabin's roof, providing a soundtrack to their shared astonishment.

The young woman broke the silence first. "Are you Richard Castle?" she asked in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing in my cabin?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Um. You must be Katie," Rick hazarded, and took an involuntary step backward as the young woman's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Kate," she bit out the correction, her jaw clenched with a depth of emotion he couldn't name.

"Sorry. Kate," he agreed, placating. He held up his hands defensively. "Sorry. Uh, and yes. I am Richard Castle." He thought of what he had seen on the bookcase. "I take it you've read my books?"

Her glare, if anything, intensified - although he thought he also detected a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "I might have."

She took a step through the doorway, and he stumbled backward, his hands still raised.

"Whoa. Okay, whoa, I know this story, okay," he babbled. "Next thing I know, you're gonna tell me that you're my biggest fan, and then you chop off my feet."

Her lips were compressed into a tight line, but he was pretty sure he saw them twitch with momentary amusement. "Don't be stupid," she said sternly. "I don't even have an axe."

"Of course you would _say_ that," he retorted, taking another step backward as she reached out through the door and hauled in a very wet duffel bag and ... a motorcycle helmet?

"Whatever," she said. "I'm going to dry off. And then you're going to explain yourself," she added with a steely-eyed scowl that made him blanch.

"Uh." But before he could come up with a suitably sarcastic rejoinder, she had disappeared into the bathroom with her bag. He distinctly heard the click of the lock.

Rick stood there in the middle of the living room for a long moment, trying to process what had just happened. His pulse was still racing from adrenaline, and he absent-mindedly picked up his cup and took a sip, grimacing at the taste of the cooled cocoa.

He went to the window and peered out. Through the driving rain - which showed no sign of letting up - he could dimly make out the shape of a motorcycle parked near his car.

Okay. Calm down and think, Rick. He tried to mentally put himself in her shoes. She - Katie Beckett, now calling herself Kate - hadn't spoken to her father in a long time, and then she rode her motorcycle up to the cabin in the pouring rain, clearly unaware that her dad had rented it out. Only to find it inhabited by a strange man. That must have freaked her out, he realized. She was probably as nervous of him as he was of her.

At the thought, he relaxed a little, feeling silly. It really had been his imagination running away with him, trying to paint Kate Beckett as an axe-murderer, rather than what she really was: just a young woman with a dead mother and an estranged alcoholic father and ... hmm. That thought recalled him to the more interesting question at hand.

Why was she here?

He pondered all of this as he dumped out his cocoa, started the pot re-heating, and rinsed out his cup. While he was at it, he set out a second cup as well; and then, after another moment's thought, he decided to put the lasagna in the oven. It would take an hour to bake, at least, and by then he and his unexpected visitor would either have reached some sort of detente, or one of them would have axe-murdered the other. In either case, having a good meal handy couldn't hurt.

He took the pan from the fridge, slid it into the oven, and turned the oven on to preheat, setting the timer for an hour. Now the hot cocoa was ready; he poured it into the two cups, added marshmallows to his, and stood there feeling foolish, wondering whether to put marshmallows into the other cup or not.

Just then the young woman emerged from the bathroom, looking much less bedraggled, if not completely dry. She had combed her hair, refreshed her makeup, and changed out of her soaking wet clothes. As he watched, she moved across the tiny hallway with the ease of long practice, opening the door to the smaller bedroom. He saw her pause in the doorway, looking into the room - he couldn't see her expression - and then she tossed her duffel bag onto the bedroom's floor and stepped backward, closing the door again.

When she turned, her eyes were cloudy with distress. Then she caught him watching her, and they both startled, jittery.

"Marshmallows?" Rick asked inanely, and watched her nose scrunch up with confusion. It was adorable, and oddly sexy.

"What?"

"I, uh, made hot cocoa," he explained, gesturing toward the cups. "If you want it, I mean. I didn't know if you wanted marshmallows."

Her brow furrowed as she stepped closer. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know." He pushed the mug toward her. "Call it a peace offering."

"Oh," she said diffidently, dipping her chin. Her demeanor was entirely different from the spiky, angry young woman he had confronted just a few minutes ago. "Look - Mr. Castle - I'm sorry. I apologize for how I behaved just now." Her words had the stiff, uncomfortable formality that told him she had been rehearsing them in her head. "I didn't realize that my father had sold the cabin." Her voice wavered slightly, but she kept it under control. "I'll get out of your way as soon as I can."

"What? No," he exclaimed, understanding in a flash the mistaken conclusion she had drawn. "No, listen, your - your family still owns the place. I'm just renting it for the week. Your dad's been renting it out."

"Oh." Some of the tension seeped out of her shoulders, and she reached for the mug. "Oh, okay. I didn't know." She took a slow sip, her eyebrows still drawn downward in an expression of consternation.

"I can see that." So many questions were pressing up through his throat, but he forced them back down. The woman was clearly still skittish, and why not? They didn't know each other at all.

On that thought, he held out his hand. "Let's try again, shall we?" he offered, giving his most charming smile. "I'm Rick Castle."

Her lips twitched again. She set down her cup and took his hand. "Kate Beckett. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he murmured. The touch of her warm skin against his was sending tingles up his spine, and he released her hand with reluctance. From the slight widening of her eyes, and the way her gaze dropped to his mouth, he guessed that she had felt it too. Whatever it was.

She bit her lower lip, clearly a habitual gesture, and his hand curled reflexively around his mug. Did she have any idea how hot that was?

"You said something about marshmallows?" she asked, ducking her head. He felt a smirk twisting his lips.

"I did," he agreed, reaching for the bag. "How many would you like?"

"Just a few," and she watched him tip five mini marshmallows into her cup. She lifted it to her mouth again and took a slow sip.

"That's really good," she said softly. "Thanks."

"Any time."

They sipped their cocoa in silence for a moment, not looking at each other. It seemed to Rick - although he could be wrong - that Kate was carefully trying not to look at anything: not him, but also not the kitchen, or the living room behind her. She kept her eyes on her mug, or the countertop that separated the kitchen from the living-room space.

At length her cup was empty and she put it down. "Thanks," she said again. "That hit the spot."

"You're welcome."

Her tongue peeked out, swiping the last of the chocolate from her lips. Rick tried not to stare, but he couldn't help himself. There was no artifice in her action, which somehow made it so much more alluring.

He cleared his throat, quickly averting his eyes before she caught him staring like a creep. "Don't you wanna, um, toss your wet things in the dryer?"

"Dryer?" she repeated, surprised. "What dryer?"

"Right over here," he said, moving around the kitchen counter and back to the short hallway that led to the bedrooms. He opened the door of the tiny space that held the laundry machines.

"Oh," Kate said, looking at it, her expression clouding over again. "This used to be the linen closet."

"Yeah, the sheets and towels and stuff are in the bedroom closets now," he replied. She nodded slowly, her eyes downcast.

"I'll just..." She bit her lip again and turned away, toward the bathroom, to retrieve her wet clothing.

Rick went back into the living room and stood there, listening to the sound of Kate putting her clothes in the dryer. He felt awkward: should he sit down with his laptop, as he might be doing right about now if Kate weren't here? Or was that rude?

In another minute she came into the room and, without a word, crossed over to the window to look out at the rain. It was still coming down steadily, though not as strongly as before.

"Looks like we'll be stuck here for a while," she said quietly.

"Yeah."

He watched as she turned slowly from the window, seemed to steel herself, and then looked at the living room, her gaze moving over every piece of furniture and decoration in turn. Her expression was inscrutable.

"I guess it's changed a bit since the last time you were here?" Rick hazarded, and she nodded, not looking at him.

"I didn't think..." She trailed off, turning toward the kitchen, her face twisting with dismay again when she spotted the photo of herself on the wall.

In a flash of intuition, Rick realized that she hadn't expected to have an audience for this emotional process - her first time coming back to the cabin since her mother's death. After only knowing her for a few minutes, he could already see that she wasn't the kind of person to be comfortable letting her unpleasant emotions show, especially to a stranger. It had probably taken her enough effort to get up the nerve to come here, expecting to have complete privacy for whatever her reactions might be, and instead she had to put up with him.

"I'll leave you alone," he decided aloud, reaching to gather up his laptop and notebook. Kate startled, looking up at him, her eyes wide, already showing more vulnerability than he thought she realized.

"You don't have to do that," she said, but without conviction.

"It's fine," he shrugged. "I don't mind."

He went into the bedroom and closed the door. He sat down on the overstuffed armchair, arranging his notebook and pen on the little table next to it, opening his computer on his lap.

But he sat for several long minutes with his fingers unmoving on the keyboard, lost in thought. The mystery of Kate Beckett enthralled him. Who was she? What had happened between her and her father? Why was she here at the cabin, now, after so long away?

Abruptly, he opened a new document and began to type.

Some indeterminate time later, he heard a quiet knock on the door. "Mr. Castle?" came Kate's voice. "Do you have something in the oven? The timer went off."

"Oh! Yeah," he exclaimed, remembering the lasagna. "Coming." He quickly saved his work, dumped the laptop on the bed, and opened the door. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said politely. "It smells great, whatever it is."

He noticed that her eyes seemed redder and more puffy than before, but he didn't comment.

"And by the way, please call me Rick," he added as he exited the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but it was still gray and overcast, the clouds lingering low over the trees. The gloom made it feel much later than it actually was.

In the kitchen, Rick opened the oven to check on the lasagna. It was almost ready. He carefully removed the foil covering the pan, closed the oven door, and reset the timer.

"Dinner in fifteen minutes," he announced, opening the fridge to take out salad fixings and a loaf of "take-and-bake" garlic bread. "You can set the table."

Kate stared at him for a moment, blinking, and then seemed to snap out of it. "Right. Okay," she agreed, and came around the kitchen island to join him. She gathered plates and silverware while he washed lettuce, assembled the salad, and put the garlic bread into the oven to heat up.

She clearly knew where everything was kept in the kitchen, and her movements quickly faded from stiff to confident. She carried the dishes over to the dining table at the far end of the living room, and set everything out neatly.

Then she returned to the kitchen and opened another cabinet, looking at the water and wine glasses. "Um," she said uncertainly.

"I got a nice red to go with the meal," Rick said, answering the question she hadn't quite asked, "but there's also seltzer or plain water if you want."

"Hmm," she hummed in acknowledgement, and took out two wine glasses.

A few minutes later, they were seated at the table. Rick served out generous slices of the lasagna and opened the wine.

"Thank you," Kate said diffidently, taking the wine bottle and pouring herself a careful half-glass. "For cooking, and everything."

"You're welcome," he replied. "But you're on dishwashing duty."

She smiled a little at that. But then she was studying him from underneath her eyelashes as she ate.

He took a few bites in silence, watching her watch him, waiting to hear what she would say.

"You're different from what I expected," she admitted at last, her cheeks coloring slightly.

"Oh, because of my stellar reputation on Page Six?" He nodded. "I get that a lot. You can't believe everything you read."

She pursed her lips. "Well, if it's not true, why do you let them write that stuff about you? Make you sound like a..."

"A bed-hopping party animal?" he grinned. She looked away, embarrassed, but he just shrugged. "I do like to party. And there's no use trying to fight the tabloids - they'll write whatever they want, and the more you deny it, the more everyone will think it's true. Anyway, my publishers think it sells more books."

"Mm." Kate nodded understanding, though she still seemed dissatisfied. Tilting her head curiously, she changed the subject. "Did you really come up here by yourself for a whole week? To, what, commune with nature?"

"Oh, hell no. I hate nature," he grinned. It drew a light laugh from her, which delighted him. The way her eyes lit up when she chuckled transformed her whole face. For a moment, the melancholy fell away.

"To write, then," she said, taking another bite of her lasagna. He nodded agreement.

"Yeah, to write. My latest book just came out, which means I have at least a month or two before my publisher starts nagging me for chapters of the next one."

"And you couldn't write it in the city?"

"Well..." He shrugged. "I guess I was looking for a change of scenery. Change of pace. Maybe spark something new. I'm - I mean, I've been writing Derrick Storm for a while now, and maybe it's time to put him aside." He paused, surprised at himself. He wasn't usually this forthcoming about his writing with a complete stranger. He stuffed some more garlic bread into his mouth in self-defense.

"I get it," Kate said quietly. "When you come up here, you feel ... so far away from everything in the city. Like you left it all behind, your real life. Like you don't have to pretend about who you really are."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "I hadn't really thought about it like that," he said slowly. "But yeah, you're right. There's something about being out here, isolated. It lets you be yourself."

She was nodding emphatically, her eyes sparking with life again. "When I was a kid," she began eagerly - but then suddenly stopped, dropping her gaze to her plate again. He saw her swallow thickly.

"We used to come up here," she tried, but her voice was shaky and she stopped again, turning her head away. Rick felt a pang of sympathy, and a deep desire to bring back her smile.

"Hey," he said softly. "That reminds me, maybe you could answer something I was wondering about earlier."

"What is it?" she asked obediently, lifting her head again, taking a careful deep breath, blinking to clear her eyes.

"Well, I was thinking that a place like this could be perfect for hiding out during the zombie apocalypse," he explained, and watched her eyebrows shoot up with surprise. "But I wasn't sure whether it would be possible to escape the zombies on the lake. Like, can zombies swim? I mean, I bet they could at least wade, but if we got into the rowboat, we'd be faster than them."

Kate gave a little snort of disbelief. She closed her mouth around a forkful of lasagna, but he could see the twitches at the corners of her lips, which he had already learned to recognize as a sign that she was trying not to smile.

"Zombies can't swim," she said at last, "but they could walk under water, and the lake isn't very deep."

"Hmm," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, that could be a problem."

"I'm not too worried." She rolled her eyes at him. A drop of tomato sauce had smeared on her lip, and she dabbed at it with her napkin. He watched, unable to look away. Without really intending to, he found himself thinking about wiping that sauce away with his tongue. The depths of her mouth would taste like the food he had cooked...

Forcing his mind away from that line of thought, he decided to risk a more personal question. "So, you know what I do for a living. What about you? Interesting job, or boring?"

To his surprise, her shoulders straightened at the question, her chin lifting defiantly. "I am a member of the NYPD," she said with more than a hint of pride.

He felt his jaw drop slightly. "You're a cop? Really? That is so cool," he breathed, and saw her holding back a smile yet again. "So, should I be calling you Detective?"

"Not yet," she said with a small grimace. "I did the academy and my year of field training, and I'm a uniformed officer as of about six months ago. But I'll make detective soon," she added with a quiet but fierce determination.

"I'm sure you will," he said, and meant it. Just from what little he had seen of her character so far, he was already convinced that she would accomplish whatever she put her mind to. "But meanwhile, I bet you look really hot in the uniform."

Her eyes widened, and then narrowed. "Bestselling author, and that's the best you can do for a line? Weak." She tsk'd disapprovingly, but her eyes were twinkling.

"You wound me, Officer," he proclaimed, putting a hand over his heart, "but you're right. I'll do better next time."

Her glare was skeptical, but at least she didn't immediately object to the implication that he would be flirting with her again. That same not-quite-repressed hint of a smile played around the edges of her lips again as she bent her head back to her food.

Just as they were finishing the meal, the cabin's phone rang. The sound was incredibly loud in the space, shattering the quiet mood and making them both jump. Rick leapt up to answer it before it could ring a second time.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Castle? It's Ben Garrison."

"Oh. Hi, Ben."

"Just checkin' in on ya," the farmer said. "Bad storm. Road's washed out."

"Yeah, I noticed," Rick agreed. "But ... I'm fine up here." He had almost said we, but wasn't sure whether Kate would want anyone to know that she was here. "It's no problem," he went on. "I've got plenty of food and everything. I'll just wait it out."

"Okay. Oughta be dried out in a couple days, depending if it rains again." Ben cleared his throat, and added, "You need anything, you could call. We could come across the lake in a boat."

"Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary. But thanks."

When Rick had said his goodbyes and hung up, he found Kate gone from her seat at the table. On a hunch, he opened the front door, and there she was on the porch, looking out over the lake.

"Hey," he said uncertainly. She turned her head partway toward him, her eyes still on the view.

"Hey. Was that Ben Garrison?"

"Yeah, uh, your dad hired him to look after the place, take care of any problems that the renters have."

She nodded understanding. "Ben's a good guy," she said vaguely, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"You ready for dessert?" Rick asked lightly, which succeeded in snapping her out of it.

"Dessert?" she repeated. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I've got all the ingredients to make s'mores over the fireplace," he replied cheerfully, holding the door open and ushering her back inside. She turned a sardonic eye on him.

"You're gonna make s'mores with those mini marshmallows?"

"Oh, no. That would be crazy," he grinned. "I got the regular-sized ones too, and the jumbo ones, just in case."

Kate's mouth fell open. "Seriously?" she asked. "You brought three different sizes of marshmallows?"

"Of course," he shrugged. "You gotta be prepared for every eventuality."

"I see," she said, rolling her eyes again. "Well, did you prepare for the eventuality of not being able to make a fire in the fireplace, genius? Because there isn't much wood in the bin, and anything you might gather out there is, well." A gesture of her arm toward the sodden forest said it all.

"Oh. You have a point," he conceded, pursing his lips in thought. "Well, we could toast the marshmallows over the stove. Or, we could just have ice cream."

"You bought ice cream too?" She huffed and shook her head. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Dessert is very important," he proclaimed, going over to the fridge and opening its small freezer compartment. "Now, do you want peanut butter fudge chip, or mint Oreo?"

Kate chose mint Oreo, wrinkling her nose in disgust when Rick chose to mix the two flavors together in his bowl. They took their dessert out on the porch, where, thanks to the roof overhang, the floorboards were only slightly damp and the deck chairs were dry enough to sit on. They ate in silence, looking at the view - what little of it there was to see, in the quickly fading light. An occasional bird flew across the lake, and the bullfrog grunted its solitary song, but otherwise there were no other signs of life.

Finished, Kate took her bowl and Rick's, and went inside to clear the table. Almost half the pan of lasagna was left, and he stowed it away in the fridge along with the rest of the garlic bread. But when he reached for the kitchen sponge, Kate snatched it away from him.

"Uh-uh. You cooked, I'm on dishes. Remember?"

He put up a token protest, but she shooed him away, so he shrugged and went to retrieve his laptop. He settled in on the living-room couch, connected up to the wifi, and began an internet search about poison, which he was considering as the murder weapon for his next Derrick Storm book.

He was vaguely aware of the sound of running water as Kate washed the dishes, and then she moved around in the kitchen for a while, and eventually went into the bathroom. When she came out, she went into her bedroom and closed the door.

Rick got sucked back into his research, making notes, sketching the initial skeleton of a chapter - but then, with a vague feeling of embarrassment, he switched over to his new document and began typing with renewed gusto. Everything else faded away as he lost himself in the act of creation.

When Kate finally emerged from her room, he blinked his way up out of the story he had been building, and was surprised to find that it was getting late.

"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you," she muttered, as he put his laptop down on the coffee table and stood up to stretch.

"No, it's okay. I should take a break anyway." He twisted, hearing his back crack, watching Kate go into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water.

"What were you doing in there?" he asked, and immediately wanted to kick himself for the impertinent question. But he was desperate to know. He was itching to ask her a thousand other questions about herself, but she still had that wary, haunted look about her eyes, and he knew he shouldn't. Unfortunately, self-control was not one of his biggest talents.

"Just some work," she shrugged, her gaze sliding away.

"Police work? Important case?" he pressed. She huffed and scowled at him.

"Something like that," she said, in a flat tone that very clearly conveyed _don't want to talk about it_. Okay, okay. He got the picture.

"Well, you don't have to hide away in there. You can do your work out here," he invited. "There's plenty of room."

"Thanks," she said uncomfortably, "but uh, I think I'm going to call it a night." She drained her water glass, refilled it, and moved back toward the bedroom door. "Goodnight," she added awkwardly.

"Until tomorrow," he responded, and stood gazing at her closed door for a long moment.

He went back to the couch and tried to write some more, but his thoughts were scattered and fuzzy. At last he gave up and allowed himself to be distracted by online games for an hour. Then he gathered up his laptop and notes, and retreated to his own bedroom.

His mind was buzzing with everything that had happened this crazy day, and he thought he would never fall asleep, but exhaustion overtook him within moments.


	3. Chapter 3

Rick had remembered to close the blinds this time, so he wasn't awakened at dawn, but it wasn't long after the sun rose that he found himself lured out of sleep. The sound of birdsong again greeted him as he sat up, scrubbing a hand across his face, feeling the rasp of stubble on his chin.

He opened the blinds, letting the sunlight stream in. The previous day's storm had completely cleared out, and the sky was blue again, all looking very similar to the beautiful autumn morning he had experienced yesterday.

He almost stumbled out of the bedroom scruffy and bleary-eyed in his boxers, but at the last moment he remembered that he wasn't alone here. So he pulled his robe out of his suitcase and put it on before venturing out into the little hallway. He went directly into the bathroom, where he showered briefly, shaved, and made himself presentable.

When he finally emerged into the living room, it was empty. He squashed a brief stab of disappointment, reminding himself that there was nowhere Kate could have gone - she must be here somewhere.

Well, unless the zombies had come in the dead of night ( _dead, get it?_ he chuckled to himself) and hauled her away. But surely she would have escaped in the rowboat?

He peeked out the window to see if the rowboat was still there, and that's when he spotted her, doing yoga on the porch. She was wearing yoga pants and a tight tank top, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, her long, lean body stretching and flexing. He was captivated by the lines and curves of her frame.

Then he suddenly felt guilty, watching her through the window; his ears heated up, and he turned away quickly. He moved into the kitchen and started the coffee pot brewing.

He was mixing up a large bowl of pancake batter when Kate came in a few minutes later, a towel around her neck, a few loose tendrils of hair escaping her ponytail and sticking to her sweaty forehead. She was gorgeous. He swallowed with difficulty and tried again not to stare.

"Coffee?" she asked, and he recognized the slightly desperate tone of a fellow caffeine addict. He quickly poured her a cup, and got out of the way while she went to the fridge to add cream.

"You didn't make any when you got up?" he questioned, raising his eyebrows, as he watched her suck down the first cup in the blink of an eye and pour a second one.

She shrugged self-consciously. "I didn't want to use your stuff."

"Oh. No, it's fine though." He studied her as he whisked the batter. "Really. We're stuck here, and I bought tons of food. You don't have to worry about it."

"Thanks," she murmured, and then, almost to herself, "I really didn't think this through."

"Hmm?" he encouraged, turning away to find a skillet in the cabinets.

"If you hadn't been here, I'd be stranded right now with no food," she mumbled, her cheeks turning pink. "So stupid."

"Hey, no big deal. You weren't expecting that storm," he shrugged. "You would've called Ben, or someone else, and they'd have come with a boat to get you. Or you'd have taken the rowboat and gotten yourself out of here."

"Yeah..." Her mouth twisted in self-reproach nevertheless. It was enough to bring another too-personal question popping through his lips.

"Why did you come up here, anyway?"

He kept his expression and body language deliberately casual, heating the skillet, pouring in some oil, and focusing on the proper application of pancake batter and blueberries while she glared at him and decided how to respond.

"I got some time off, the holiday weekend plus one more day," she dragged out at last. "And I had ... that work to do." A slight movement of her head, indicating the bedroom, where she was keeping her mysterious work.

"You could do it in the city," he suggested neutrally, keeping an eye on her and an eye on the pancakes. It was important not to hover - not with pancakes, and not with wary young women who might almost be ready to open up to you.

"I wanted to get away for a bit," she said, her shoulders tensing up. "I wanted to..." She trailed off, her scowl deepening. Rick flipped the pancakes over and said nothing.

"What do you care anyway?" she grumbled. "It's nothing to do with you."

"It's part of the story," he said simply. "I'm all about the story." He deftly flipped the pancakes onto a plate, and poured out the second batch of batter onto the pan. "Breakfast time."

Kate was biting her lip again, still unhappy. "I should shower," she said reluctantly.

"Pancakes'll get cold. You can shower after." He pushed the plate toward her, and the jar of maple syrup.

She seemed reluctant, but she made no further comment, just took her coffee cup and plate and the syrup over to the table.

By the time he had finished cooking the second batch of pancakes, she had eaten the first batch, and finished her coffee, and disappeared into the bathroom without a word. Rick sat alone at the table and ate, frowning to himself.

Kate Beckett was like no one he had ever met before. The depths of her strength and intelligence were already evident in the way she carried herself, the sharp cut of her eyes - but she was also deeply wounded, presumably by her mother's death, and perhaps by whatever had happened afterward between her and her father. Rick knew that being here, seeing the cabin again after so long away, was a difficult emotional experience for her, but she was suppressing or concealing her reactions. The few glimpses he had seen behind the façade were maddeningly intriguing. He wanted to know everything about her. But he suspected she wouldn't make it easy.

And what police work could be so important that she would bring it up here with her, to work on it during her weekend off?

She was a mystery, all right, and one he badly wanted to solve.

He finished his pancakes and cleared away the dishes. There was still some batter left, which he put into the fridge. Then he pushed his feet into his sneakers and wandered outside.

The sun was shining again, the sky blue and the birds singing. The wooden stairs leading down from the cabin's porch were still damp, as was the hard-packed earth of the driveway. The grass was littered with leaves and small branches thrown down by the storm.

Rick walked down the slight slope of the driveway, to where it met the dirt road that was the only way in or out. Just yesterday morning he had driven down to this junction and taken this road into town, but now the road itself was barely visible under the mud and small lakes of rainwater that covered it. It was a drowned, muddy mess. He could see that if he tried to drive down here now, his car would be stuck in the mud within seconds. Or under water. Or both.

As he was standing there looking at the flooded road, Kate walked up beside him. She had changed from her workout clothes into jeans and a t-shirt. She stood next to him and looked at the road in silence for a moment.

"Every time this road washes out, the town starts saying they're gonna come and pave it," she commented, "but somehow it never happens."

"Bureaucracy, huh?" he said, accepting her presence and comment for the tacit apology that he thought they were intended as.

"Yeah," she agreed, and they turned in unison, fell into step as they walked back up toward the cabin. It felt so natural, as if they'd walked side-by-side a hundred times before.

At the other end of the driveway, where it gave way to grass, Kate paused to kick off her shoes. "Grass is still totally soggy too," she said. "That's why I did my yoga on the porch."

Rick took the hint and kicked off his shoes as well. The grass was wet and cold, and the ground underneath it squelched unpleasantly between his toes. "Guess I won't be writing out here today," he commented.

"It should dry out by midday. The road takes longer."

"Ahh, okay."

She paused then, and looked up at him sideways, hesitant. "What, um, what did my father say about me?" she asked after a moment. Her shoulders were hunched again, that same tension curling her in on herself.

"Oh. Well." Rick might be a jackass sometimes, but he knew that _He didn't mention you at all_ would be the wrong thing to say. "He pretty much kept it to business," he said instead. "But I did, uh, get the sense that you and he haven't spoken in a while."

She snorted without humor. "You could say that." Her eyes were on the lake again, searching toward the far shore. "He didn't want me to become a cop," she added slowly.

Ah, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place. "He was worried about you," Rick mused aloud. "I don't know what I'd say if my daughter wanted to go into such a dangerous profession."

Kate was eyeing him sideways again. "You have a daughter?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, feeling a smile leap to his face just at the thought of his little girl. "Alexis. She's nine. I have custody, but she's visiting her mom in L.A. this week."

"Oh." Now Kate had turned toward him, her expressive eyes searching his face. "You miss her?"

"Kind of," he admitted. "But it's only been a couple of days so far. And it's good for her to spend some time with her mother." Then suddenly he remembered whom he was talking to, and wanted to kick himself. "Um, I mean," he began again, feeling horribly guilty. "I, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," she said, although her face was twisted in a scowl again. "It's fine."

It wasn't fine, but he didn't know how to fix it.

She bent over to pick up her shoes, and went back inside.

After a moment, he did the same. He couldn't make anything better, but at least he could give Kate some space, leave her alone, which she seemed to want right now.

Kate wasn't visible in the cabin's main space, and her bedroom door was closed. Rick stood for a moment, just looking around the living room, trying to imagine all the memories Kate must have of this place. Of summer days spent swimming and sunbathing, a young girl reluctantly coming inside to dry off and change out of her bathing suit for dinner. Of evenings spent just hanging out with her parents, making a fire in the fireplace, cuddling up on the couch to watch the flames dance and chat about nothing.

How painful must those memories be now, overshadowed by the mother's death and the father's withdrawal? How was a person supposed to get past that pain and find a way to enjoy the place again?

These thoughts accompanied Rick as he went into the master bedroom for his laptop and notebook, and took them out onto the porch.

A few canoes and rowboats were out on the lake, at the other side, far enough away that it was hard to make out much detail. The voices of the people in the boats and on the shores at the other side drifted across the lake, providing a background counterpoint to the birdsong, the gentle rustling of the trees, and the quiet sound of the moving water.

Rick settled in on one of the deck chairs with a view out over the lake, crossed his legs in front of him, and balanced the laptop on his knee. He left the computer closed while he opened the notebook and began to write. He felt in the mood for some free-associating, which was always better done with pen and paper.

A few minutes in, he heard the door open and close behind him. Kate's footsteps paused, then continued down the stairs. He turned his head and saw her walking across the grass at an angle, toward the far end of the property where the lawn gave way to trees.

He turned his attention back to his writing.

* * *

Rick wasn't sure how long it had been when Kate returned from her walk, but her reappearance made him realize that he had been sitting in the same position for too long. Groaning, he hauled himself up out of the chair, put his notebook and computer onto it, and stretched. His spine and joints crackled disconcertingly. He rolled his head from side to side, stretching out the kinks in his neck, as he watched Kate walk up the stairs.

"Maybe I should do some yoga," he joked, drawing a small smirk to her lips.

"You might be surprised. Yoga classes aren't just for picking up women," she teased, and he huffed in mock indignation.

"I resent the implication," he proclaimed loftily, and was pleased to see her full-blown smile spread across her face. She seemed more relaxed from whatever she'd been doing out there - communing with nature, he supposed.

She kicked off her muddy boots just outside the door, and then went inside, with Rick close behind. Turning back, she cocked her head and frowned slightly at him.

"Are you following me?"

"Of course not. Why would I do that?" he asked, following her across the living room and into the kitchen area. She turned on the coffee pot and then turned to him again, folding her arms across her chest, piercing him with her narrow-eyed gaze.

"Rick." The snap of his name in her mouth was full of warning: dangerous, and more than a little exciting. He wanted to hear it again and again, in every possible tone of voice.

Momentarily lost in the reverie of imagining all the different ways she could say his name, he snapped out of it when her fingers closed around his ear, twisting sharply.

"Ow! Ow, ow," he gasped, reaching up to grab her wrist, trying in vain to detach her iron grip. "Okay, okay. I was following you, geez."

She released his ear and folded her arms again, glaring, as he rubbed his ear and sulked.

"Explain yourself," she commanded. He winced backward, instinctively recoiling from her imperious tone.

"Okay, listen, maybe you aren't the only one who didn't completely think things through before coming here, okay?" he grumbled. She quirked an eyebrow questioningly, and he sighed. "I just, well, I'm not sure what made me think I could write nonstop for a week without any distractions. And by distractions I mean procrastination tools."

"Procrastination?" she repeated, turning to pour herself a cup of coffee. "You're supposed to be writing, not procrastinating."

"I know, I know," he agreed, "but I can't write for eight hours straight. I need to take frequent breaks. That's what keeps the creative juices flowing." He paused. "Well, that, and coffee." He reached around her to pour himself a cup.

Kate was shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she grabbed her own cup and moved out of his way. "Okaaay," she remarked skeptically. "So you're saying there aren't enough distractions out here?"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean..." He trailed off, flummoxed. _You're enough distraction for a month - a year - a lifetime,_ he wanted to say, but that would probably not come across quite right, would it?

Then a thought hit him; he remembered something he had noticed in his perusal of the cabin yesterday. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Wait, let's check this out."

He left his coffee cup behind and walked over to the far end of the living room, where there was a built-in cabinet in the wall, containing books, knick-knacks, and an assortment of elderly, well-worn board games.

"Look," he said, "there's chess, checkers, Monopoly ... Oh! Cards." He picked up a faded deck of playing cards from the shelf, and turned to brandish them at Kate. "Strip poker?" he suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

"Dream on," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I-" but the phone rang again, cutting her off. Rick put the cards back on the shelf and moved quickly to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi Daddy!"

"Oh," he exclaimed. "Hey, pumpkin. What's up? How's your weekend with mom going?"

"Good," his daughter's little voice came through the line, making his chest swell with affection. "We went shopping and got pedicures. Did you know you can get kale in your smoothie and it's super healthy? It doesn't even taste that bad."

"If you say so," he chuckled. "I'm glad you're having a good time."

"Yeah, but I'm worried about you being all alone with the bears, Daddy."

"No, honey, I told you, I'm fine. And there aren't any bears. Really." He paused, debating whether to tell Alexis about Kate. But Alexis might tell Meredith, and then things were bound to get blown out of proportion, so... "I don't want you to worry about me, Alexis. It's nice and quiet here. Peaceful."

"So peaceful you can't even find a way to make trouble?" she asked, and he could hear the skepticism in his daughter's voice even from three thousand miles away.

"Well, you know I'm very talented," he joked, and was rewarded with a giggle. "But I'll be good, I promise. Now you go hang out with your mom, I bet she has a lot more fun stuff planned."

"Okay. But I miss you, Daddy."

"I miss you too, but we're both fine, right?"

"Yeah. We're good. Love you."

"Love you. Bye."

When he hung up, he found that Kate had disappeared again; the door to her bedroom was closed once more. He supposed that she was giving him privacy for his phone call; or maybe she was just anxious to get back to work on her mysterious case.

Anyway, that was enough of a distraction break for now, he told himself with a sigh. He went back out to the porch and settled in again with his writing materials.

He worked for a little while, until his stomach grumbled and sent him back inside, where he made two grilled-cheese sandwiches and heated up some canned tomato soup. Tentatively, he tapped on Kate's door. "Kate? I made lunch if you want it."

"Coming," she said, and opened the door a moment later, saying, "I didn't realize it was so late."

"I know," he agreed, trying to sneak a surreptitious glance past her. He caught a glimpse of papers spread out across the bed, but then she was glaring at him, taking the plate from his hand, and shutting the door in his face.

"Thanks," she said, just as the latch clicked.

He shrugged and took his food back out onto the porch.

A while later, Kate emerged again. She was wearing her workout clothes again, barefoot, and she carried a towel, which she laid out on the grass as a makeshift yoga mat.

Rick tried not to watch - really he did - but it was impossible. Kate was all lean muscle and grace, her body seeming to flow through the forms with no apparent effort. He was mesmerized by the implicit power of her, the sensuality of the movements.

He found himself drawn to her, leaving his work behind, walking barefoot down the steps and back out onto the grass. The autumn sun had done its work, and the grass and earth were much more dry than they had been that morning.

As he approached Kate, she finished her workout and looked warily at him.

"Almost dry enough to sit on," he commented lightly, indicating the grass.

She smiled slightly, though her eyes were still guarded. "Yeah. Too bad the road doesn't dry out that fast."

She was breathing just a little more heavily than normal, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her face was sheened with sweat. Leaving her towel in place on the ground, she turned and walked down the lawn to the water's edge, and he tagged along, unable to resist the gravitational pull of her orbit.

"I would say sorry for distracting you," she remarked over her shoulder, "but apparently it's all part of the creative process."

She walked out onto the dock, over the water. He followed, feeling the sun-warmed wood sturdy and solid under his bare feet.

"Exactly," he agreed, wondering dizzily whether she was flirting with him. Surely it must be his imagination. "Looks like you were in need of some distraction too."

"All work and no play," she tossed off, and suddenly, to his amazement, she grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it off over her head. She had a sports bra on underneath, and while he was still gaping, she took a couple of quick running steps and plunged off the dock and into the water.

He stepped forward to the edge of the dock, looking down in amazement as she surfaced. She swam swiftly out toward the middle of the lake, her stroke smooth and powerful, the sunlight flashing off the droplets that clung to her well-toned shoulders and arms each time they rose up out of the water.

She went about fifty yards out, then stopped, turned, and swam back more leisurely. She stopped a few yards away from the end of the dock and looked up at him, grinning mischievously.

"What are you doing?" he asked inanely, and her grin widened.

"Going for a refreshing swim. Duh." She floated there easily, her head bobbing gently above the water. "You joining me? You did say it was distraction time."

Yes. Yes, he had, and she certainly was distracting.

"But it's _cold_ ," he objected, remembering how the water had chilled his feet yesterday. "Aren't you going to catch hypothermia? Or pneumonia? Something like that."

"Nah," she scoffed, still grinning. "It's not that bad. Refreshing, like I said. Feels nice."

"Really?" He wasn't at all sure that this was a good idea. But he couldn't let her upstage him like that, could he? Was he a wimp, or a manly man? _You're a wimp,_ the little voice in the back of his mind assured him, but he shook it off. If she could do it, then he could do it.

"Okay," he said, determined, "here goes nothing." He pulled his shirt off over his head, dropping it on the dock next to Kate's. Then he unfastened his jeans and pushed them off as well, leaving him in boxers and nothing else.

The autumn air had a little bite to it, but felt good on his bare skin. Okay, he could do this. How bad could it be?

He stepped to the edge of the dock and jumped.

The water hit him like a shock, instantly flash-freezing every inch of his skin, or so it seemed. He surfaced spluttering and gasping, all of his limbs flailing against the penetrating cold of the lake.

"Holy crap, that's cold," he squeaked, and heard the delicious sound of Kate's full-throated laughter. He blinked water out of his eyes and turned to find her, a few feet away, treading water casually while laughing at him. She was gorgeous, and evil.

"This isn't funny. I can't feel my feet," he whined, flailing a little more, and suddenly his foot extended downward and he felt sand. He realized that the water was not very deep; he could touch the bottom with his toes, and by moving just a little closer to shore, he could stand flat-footed.

"Not funny," he said again, pouting, but Kate was unfazed.

"Yeah, it is," she grinned. "You should have seen your face when you came up."

He wrapped his arms around himself under the water, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms in an attempt to create some heat, while studying Kate. She was still calmly treading water, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"How can you stand this? It's freezing."

"It's not that bad," she shrugged, still smirking. But as she shifted a little closer, he noticed goosebumps all over her bare arms. And under the water he could see that her nipples were hard, poking out distinctly through the thin white fabric of her sports bra.

"You'll warm right up in a minute," she added, her voice turning husky, and all of a sudden he thought she might be right. She drifted a little closer still, and he saw her gaze sliding across his bare chest, and when their eyes met, he knew that she had caught him looking at her nipples.

She was barely an arm's length away. If he reached out his hand...

"Kate," he murmured, his voice low, his eyes glued to her face. She took in a quick breath, her lips parting as she stared at him.

But he didn't quite have the nerve to close that final distance between them. What if he was misreading her expression, her actions, the things she had said? What if he had it all wrong?

So he hesitated, and the moment passed them by. A crow cawed nearby, and Kate blinked, biting her lip. Then she slipped around him and away, her feet finding the sand, wading quickly up out of the water like some kind of aquatic goddess in yoga pants. Thoroughly soaked yoga pants, that clung to her and left little to the imagination. And he had a very good imagination.

"Break time's over," she announced, moving across the grass, snagging her towel on the way, wrapping it around herself as she went.

He struggled out after her, feeling clumsy and oafish, his limbs heavy with the cold.

He caught up with her as she mounted the cabin steps. "Kate," he said again, but he didn't know what came after that.

She opened the door and said over her shoulder, "You can't come in."

"What?" He stood on the porch, shivering, hopping from one foot to the other, water streaming off his body. He was even colder now than he had been in the lake.

"Can't come inside dripping wet," she said, her voice light. "Get lake water all over everything."

"Oh god. I'm going to freeze to death, Kate."

"Hang on," she said, and ducked quickly inside. He saw her stride across to the bathroom, and she came back with a clean towel. "Here."

"Thanks."

By the time he had dried himself enough to stop dripping everywhere, she was in the shower. He scurried back down to the dock to retrieve his clothes and Kate's tank top, then let himself into the cabin, put the clothes in the washer, and went to his bedroom to finish drying off.

"I might have left you a little bit of hot water," her voice said through the door a minute later, and he opened the door to catch the tail end of her smirk.

"If I catch pneumonia, it'll be your responsibility to nurse me back to health, you know."

"Yeah, that'll happen," she chuckled, going into her room and firmly closing the door.

He took a quick shower - just long enough to chase the chill from his bones - and then made himself another cup of coffee and returned to his chair on the porch. Confusing and frustrating (and possibly life-threatening) as their little swim had been, it had certainly gotten his creative brain into gear. He typed without stopping until the setting sun dropped below the roof overhang and shone directly into his eyes. With a grumble, he got up, turned the chair so that his back was to the sun, and resumed.

Only when the sun moved behind the trees and darkness began to overtake the landscape did he find a place to stop and, hitting the save button, let out a long sigh of satisfaction.


	4. Chapter 4

When Rick stood up again from his chair, he immediately noticed two things. One was that, just like earlier, he had sat in the same position for too long and his muscles were stiff and achy. The other was that a delicious smell was once again emanating from the cabin's kitchen.

He stretched in leisurely fashion, cracking his back and rotating his head and shoulders to get out some of the kinks. Then he gathered up his laptop, notebook, and pen, and went back inside. Trying to juggle all the items in his hands, he slammed the door shut a little harder than intended, startling Kate, who was in the kitchen.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, putting his things down on the little table next to the couch.

"No problem," she said. As he approached the kitchen, she added diffidently, "I put the lasagna in to re-heat. I know it's not exciting to have the same thing two nights in a row, but I thought-"

"No, that's a good idea. Wouldn't want it to go bad," he said, and she relaxed a little, looking relieved.

"Was everything okay with your daughter?"

"Oh - yeah, fine," he nodded. "She was just calling to check in on me. Make sure I didn't get eaten by a bear, you know."

"Mm," she murmured, and then, slowly, "How ... how is he? My dad?"

Oh. The idea of a daughter calling to check on her father's well-being had pushed a button, apparently. Rick hesitated, unsure how much Kate already knew about Jim's condition - and how much she wanted to know.

"Is he still drinking?" she prompted, and he sighed.

"Yeah," he said reluctantly. "Uh, I don't think he's doing so well, actually."

Kate's mouth twisted in dismay. "I thought ... I mean, I hoped..." She frowned unhappily. "This was a stupid mistake. I never should have come here."

"Hey." Rick wasn't sure what that last statement had to do with her father, but he couldn't let it go by. "I for one am glad that you did," he said earnestly, hoping to draw out a smile. Instead, it just caused her frown to deepen.

"Why?"

"Why what?" he asked stupidly.

"Why do you care?" she challenged. "You don't know me at all. I'm just in your way, with my stupid problems."

"Your problems aren't stupid. And you're not in my way," he objected. "You're - you're helping me. Inspiring me."

"Please," she scoffed, but he persisted.

"I'm serious, Kate. You suffered a tremendous loss, but you haven't let it destroy you. You're obviously very strong."

"You don't know me at all," she said again, turning away. He frowned at her back.

"I know enough," he said with conviction. "I know you're smart, and tough, and caring. It's what makes you a great cop. And you would have been a great lawyer too."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "How'd you know I was pre-law?" she demanded, anger and curiosity mingling in her voice.

"It's what I do - observing people," he replied. "Most smart, good-looking women from backgrounds like yours become lawyers. Or doctors, but I'm guessing it's justice that drives you, not physical healing." The insight that hit him was so obvious he was surprised he hadn't seen it sooner. "That's why you had to become a cop, after your mother's death. To seek justice in a more concrete way."

"You think you've got me all figured out," she muttered. Rick felt a sudden stab of remorse. What was he doing, psychoanalyzing her when all she wanted was to be left alone?

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "It's just, I mean, you came here for a purpose, and whatever that is, I'd hate to see you give up on it."

She turned around at that, and looked fully at him, assessing. He fidgeted under her gaze, forcing himself not to say anything more. Hadn't he stuck his foot in it enough already?

"Let's eat," she said at last, and turned to open the oven and check on the lasagna.

Dinner was quiet and awkward, neither of them having anything much to say. Rick carefully kept his eyes on his food, not wanting to be caught staring again.

When they had finished eating and cleared away the dishes, he asked tentatively, "Ice cream?" and Kate's head suddenly came up, a new spark lighting her eyes.

"That reminds me," she exclaimed. "I had a thought. Hang on."

She grabbed a flashlight from a hook next to the door, and went outside. Rick hurried to follow her, bemused.

"Where are we going?" he asked as they descended the stairs and crossed the grass. "There aren't really bears around here, are there? Because I promised my daughter I would leave the bears alone."

"There aren't any bears," Kate said on a sigh, and although he couldn't see her face, he could imagine the eyeroll.

It was dark, but the cabin's lights and Kate's flashlight gave enough illumination for them to easily see their way across the lawn. She led him over to the little shed by the water, and pulled the door open.

"Ah!" she exclaimed triumphantly, pointing the flashlight into the small space.

Rick peered around her and saw fishing poles, buckets, oars and life jackets for the rowboat, and - stacked neatly on top of a tarp in the corner - a large pile of firewood. Dry firewood, that had been sheltered from the storm.

"We can use the fireplace after all," Kate said with satisfaction.

"And make s'mores?" he asked eagerly, and in the spillover light from the flashlight he saw a little smile cross her face.

"And make s'mores," she agreed. "Here, help me carry it inside."

They filled their arms with firewood and made their way back across the lawn and inside, where they piled up the wood in the bin next to the fireplace.

"Did you look up?" Kate asked, when they had filled the bin and stood up to brush off their clothing.

"What do you mean?"

"Outside," she said, nodding toward the door. "Just now, did you look up at the stars? They're amazing out here."

"Oh," he said, surprised. "No, I didn't." He had been too focused on finding his footing in the grass in the dark, cringing at the mental image of tripping and falling on top of his armload of firewood, making an absolute fool of himself in front of Kate. Again.

"Come on," she said, a little shy, but insistent. "You gotta see them."

So he followed her out the door again, and down the stairs, but this time they stopped on the hard-packed earth of the driveway and tipped their heads back to look up.

"Oh, wow," Rick breathed, awe-struck. She was right. The sky was perfectly clear - all traces of the previous night's storm long gone - and the stars were a dense twinkling canopy as far as the eye could see. Out here, far from the smog and light-pollution of the city, you could see more stars, so many more than were visible back home or even at the Hamptons. It was an incredible sight.

They stood in silence for a moment, just enjoying the view.

"I've gotta bring my daughter up here sometime," Rick mused, quietly. Although it wasn't very late yet - and the voices of far-off neighbors were still faintly audible - something about the dark and the forest and the stars made hushed, reverent tones feel appropriate. "She would love this."

His eyes on the celestial landscape, he felt Kate turning her head to glance at his profile, then returning her attention to the stars as well.

"My mom loved the stars," she said, almost a whisper.

Rick felt his eyes widen in surprise, but he kept quiet, almost holding his breath, to see what would come next.

"She would always pull me and Dad out here and insist that we look," Kate continued quietly. "We'd be saying, 'I'm getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, dinner's getting cold, can't we go back in yet?' But she had to show us the constellations, how beautiful it all was. She never got tired of it."

It occurred to Rick that this was the first time Kate had directly mentioned her mother - and the first time she had talked about memories of the cabin without getting choked up.

Softly, he said, "Tell me about her."

Kate was quiet for so long that he feared he had burst the bubble; that she was about to shut down, or get angry at him again, or worse, start crying. But at last she drew in a slow breath and began to speak.

"She could be so frustrating. I mean, I was a teenager, and ... I wasn't the easiest daughter, I guess, but I never doubted that she loved me. But she didn't believe in coddling me either. She wasn't afraid to point out my flaws, and she tried to be open about her own issues too, so I would see that everyone has things they need to work on." She paused, took another deep breath, and went on. "I'm more similar to my dad, and I fought with him so much. She would come to me afterward and say, 'Katie, you and your dad are so alike, and that's why you keep clashing.' It drove me crazy. I just wanted her to say that he was wrong and I was right."

Rick chuckled quietly, risking a glance sideways. Kate's attention was still focused on the sky, but she tilted her head toward him, acknowledging his look. Her expression, as far as he could tell by the dim light of the moon and stars, was calm.

"What did she do for a living?" he prompted.

"She was a lawyer," Kate responded with a hint of pride. "She specialized in helping underprivileged people who had been treated unfairly by the judicial system. She would come home for dinner and spend the whole meal ranting about her latest case of the system failing someone, just because they were poor, or didn't speak good English, or whatever."

"Wow. Sounds like the passion for justice is hereditary," he commented. He was still looking at Kate's profile, and when she turned her head to face him, he saw the starlight glinting off wet trails on her cheeks.

"I guess," she said. "Sometimes I feel like I can never live up to her vision of me."

"I'm sure she'd be very proud of you," he said, wincing at how trite it sounded. But he was also noticing that she was shivering a little. It was getting chilly out here. "Are you cold? Let's go in and make the fire. And the s'mores."

"Right," she agreed, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "Wouldn't want to deprive you of your s'mores."

Inside, Kate knelt down beside the fireplace. "I'll build the fire," she said. "You get the stuff ready."

So he went to the kitchen and gathered the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers while Kate arranged some of the wood in the fireplace, added an old piece of newspaper, and set the whole thing alight.

He poured two glasses of milk, found some skewers in a kitchen drawer, put everything onto a tray, and carried it over to the coffee table in front of the sofa.

They sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, toasting the marshmallows on the skewers. The heat felt nice against Rick's face and shoulders at first, but soon it was too hot. He scooted backward as far as he could, leaning forward to hold his marshmallow over the flames.

"Thank you," Kate said quietly, as they watched their marshmallows slowly turn brown. "For asking about her."

"Any time," he replied. "She was obviously a very special woman."

"I wanted to talk about her," she went on, her voice lowering even further. "With my dad. To share memories with him. But he couldn't. He just cried, and drank. It was like I lost both of them."

Rick's heart ached for her, thinking of how young she had been, how unfair it all was. "I'm sorry," was all he could say.

"Mm." But then she straightened her shoulders, and her tone deliberately lightened. "I'm sorry too. For tricking you into swimming," she said, a hint of a smirk playing around the corners of her mouth.

He couldn't help grinning also, remembering how joyous her laughter had sounded when he came up from under the water. The memory of the cold water was hard to hold onto, here and now with his skin hot from the fire and the nearness of her.

"Nah, no big deal," he said. "On the bright side, now I know exactly how Han Solo felt when they froze him in carbonite."

Kate snorted. "You're such a nerd. Pass the chocolate."

"Right."

He reached over to the coffee table and passed her a plate with graham crackers and chocolate already arranged on it. While she carefully transferred her hot marshmallow onto the chocolate, he grabbed the second plate and did the same with his own.

"Mm," Kate said around a mouthful of gooey chocolatey goodness. "I haven't had s'mores in forever. It's so good."

"It's the best," Rick agreed, taking a big bite, feeling melted chocolate and marshmallow and graham crumbs smear across his chin. He always made a mess with s'mores. It was half the fun. He reached for the paper towels he had brought, and tried to clean himself up.

Somehow, Kate was managing to eat her s'more neatly. "Would you really have done this all by yourself?" she questioned, her eyes wide and earnest on him. "Built a fire and made s'mores out here, all alone?"

"Honestly?" He swallowed his last mouthful, reached for his glass of milk, and took a large swig. "This is the longest I've ever been away from Alexis. The longest I've been alone since she was born, in fact. So I didn't really know what to expect." He shrugged self-consciously. "I guess it was dumb to think I'd do all the same things by myself that I would have done with her."

Kate sipped her milk, her expression contemplative. "I don't think it's dumb," she said at last. "It's kind of sweet that you don't know what to do without her."

"I'm sure I would have thought of something. Even if you hadn't come along." _But now that you have, I can think of lots of things to do,_ he didn't say, but from the way her eyebrows quirked, he imagined that she had heard the thought in his head.

She put the glass down and studied his face. Her eyes were dark and liquid in the firelight.

"You've got chocolate everywhere," she murmured, lifting a hand to his face. She rose up onto her knees, looming above him. The firelight flickered over her face and lit up her hair with golden highlights. Her thumb swiped across his chin, the light touch sending tingles up and down his spine.

Before he had a chance to decide whether it would be a good idea to capture her hand with his, she was leaning in. He watched with something like awe as she moved closer, and then she kissed him.

She pressed her lips to his, lingering, and when she started to pull back, he leaned forward, his mouth chasing hers and finding it again. She parted her lips and drew closer to him, her fingers sliding into his hair, and he took it as his cue to deepen the kiss. His tongue teased at hers, wet and hot, tasting the lingering flavors of chocolate and marshmallow. He snaked one arm around her waist, and she moved even closer, throwing one knee across his legs so that she was straddling him. Her weight settled pleasantly on his thighs and he groaned softly when her upper body came into contact with his.

His hands roamed across her back as they kissed, exploring each other's mouths, and then he left her lips and moved his mouth across her cheek. He wanted to taste her everywhere, to find all the places that would make her gasp and moan.

He nuzzled into the soft flesh underneath her chin and nipped lightly with his teeth, savoring the breathy little noise she made and the way she shuddered against him. He moved upward, along the graceful line of her jaw, and just under her ear he found another spot that drew a high-pitched whimper. Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging him back up, and her mouth was greedy on his, her warm body wriggling enticingly in his lap.

At last they pulled apart, both needing air, breathing heavily and staring at each other.

Rick thought he had never seen any woman look so desirable as Kate did in that moment: flushed and tousled, her lips reddened, her face half in shadow as the firelight illuminated her from behind.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, pulling back, detaching herself from him. His hands fell from her body even as he was gaping at her.

"For what?" he asked incredulously.

She bit her lip - god, that was hot - and looked away. Her hair fell across her face, screening it from his view, but he thought she might be blushing.

"I need, um." She still wasn't looking at him. "I'm pretty tired. I think I'll call it a day."

"Kate," he said softly, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away and stood up.

"Goodnight," she said, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Rick sighed and turned back toward the fire, his thoughts whirling. Almost on autopilot, while his mind was turning over everything that had happened, his hands were taking another marshmallow out of the bag and pushing the skewer into it. He held it over the dying flames, contemplating.

Kate had opened up to him, in a way that he thought had surprised her as much as it had him. Despite only having known her for a day, he could already tell that she wasn't the kind of person who gave up those kinds of confidences easily. It must be something about the strange circumstances they found themselves in - trapped together, here in this cabin that held so many memories for Kate and none at all for Rick.

The more he learned about her, the more intrigued he was. He was fascinated by everything about her, and yes, attracted to her too. But the last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of her vulnerability - push her into anything she didn't want, anything she might regret later. Maybe that was why she had pulled away from the kiss. She wasn't really interested in him. She had just gotten carried away by a moment of unguarded emotion, and then thought better of it.

He sighed, losing himself briefly in the memory of her taste, how her body had felt under his hands, the sweet press of her mouth. Oh god, he wanted her so badly. But he would respect her wishes and leave her alone, if that was what she wanted. He just hoped she would still be willing to talk to him. There was so much more of the Kate Beckett mystery to unravel.

His marshmallow had caught fire while he was deep in his thoughts. He blew it out, and made another s'more with it. The familiar, delicious taste did little to dispel the memory of Kate's kisses.

When the s'more was gone, he finished his milk and got up. He cleared away the remains of dessert and washed the dishes. The fire had died down to embers, glowing silently in the darkened room.

He went to the bathroom to wash the last of the stickiness from his face and hands. Then he took his laptop into the bedroom, closed the door, and sat up in bed writing until the wee hours of the morning.

* * *

Rick's alarm went off at ten the next morning, and if he hadn't had the foresight to set it, he might have slept much later. It wasn't unusual for him to sleep past noon on days when he didn't have to get Alexis to school, especially after a lengthy writing binge.

He half-sleepwalked through a shower, got dressed, and emerged into the empty living room. There was no sign of Kate in the cabin, but he could see that she had eaten some of the yogurt and fruit he'd bought, and the coffee in the pot was fresh. Gratefully, he poured himself a cup and took it out onto the porch.

It was overcast today, the clouds not looking particularly threatening, but blotting out the sun and making everything appear grey and washed out. He spotted Kate at last, sitting on the dock, her feet dangling over the water. Her spine was straight, but her shoulders were raised, a certain tension infusing her entire body. Unsure about how she was feeling, he decided to leave her alone.

So he stood there, sipping his coffee, thinking about what he had written yesterday and what he might write today. When the cup was empty, he left it in the kitchen and went to look at the road again.

The puddles of rainwater had dwindled considerably under yesterday's sun, but the road was still a muddy morass. He was no expert on the subject, but he imagined the mud grabbing at the wheels of his car, pulling it to a stop. And then maybe sucking it underground like a pit of quicksand, never to be seen again.

Okay, maybe not the quicksand part. But it definitely didn't look like it was safe to walk on yet, let alone drive.

When he turned back toward the cabin, he found Kate on the porch, watching him.

"Not dried out yet," he said, and she shook her head in agreement.

"No, but it's making progress. As long as it doesn't rain more today," she said, glancing toward the sky a little anxiously.

"Will you get in trouble if you aren't back at work on time?"

"I hope not," she replied with a grimace. "If I call my captain and let him know. This is the first time I've taken any days off, so I have a lot of them saved up."

He stood on the ground at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at her, thinking about her dedication to her job. She never took time off? Really?

"Why now?" he asked before his brain-to-mouth filter had a chance to kick in. Kate looked at him, wary.

"What?"

"You've never taken time off before, but suddenly here you are," he said, moving slowly up the stairs. "Why now?"

She backed away a few steps as he approached, watching him with hooded eyes. "I don't know," she said, and he could tell that it was a lie. He mentally cursed himself for pushing too hard - again.

"Okay," he forced himself to say, and shrugged, and went on past her and into the cabin again.

She came in after him, and watched as he took the bowl of pancake batter from the fridge, along with a container of blueberries.

"What did you mean," she asked after a moment, "when you said _I'm all about the story_?"

"Just that," he answered, setting out the pan and the spatula. "I'm fascinated by people's stories. It's how you get to know them."

"So everyone you meet is just another story to you?"

There was an odd edge to her tone, and he glanced at her face as he poured the batter into the pan, trying to decipher her expression. "No," he said slowly, "some people are complete mysteries, and learning their stories is just one small step toward trying to understand them." Taking a risk on a lighter tone, he added, "And some people are boring, so the best they'll ever be is background characters."

Somehow, that seemed to be the right thing to say. Kate's face and shoulders relaxed slightly, and she nodded once.

"Okay."

Rick flipped the pancakes over and studied her face again, trying to figure out what she was thinking. She had told him so much about herself, maybe more than she had intended or even realized.

"I've always been interested in other people's lives," he said, "even when I was a kid. What makes people tick, what past experiences shaped them. How you can understand someone's personality by learning their story. And then, making up people and stories of my own was the next logical step."

"Hmm," Kate murmured. "Makes sense." She looked thoughtful, her eyes narrowed.

Rick flipped the pancakes onto a plate and started pouring in another batch of batter. "Go ahead, eat before they get cold."

"I'll wait for you," she said, shyly, giving him a little smile.

It was ridiculous to feel so thoroughly warmed by such a small gesture, but he did.

When they were both settled in at the table with their pancakes and coffee, Kate asked, "So what have you been writing here? The next Derrick Storm book?"

"Among other things," he nodded. "Have you read the Storm series? My latest one just came out. I could get you a copy."

"I have it," she muttered, her cheeks turning pink. "Already read it."

"Oh, really?" He couldn't repress the grin that spread across his face. The book had only been out for a couple of weeks, but she had already read it? "So just how big of a fan are you, Kate?"

"Your ego's plenty big enough already," she retorted. "Anyway, I thought the whole point of coming up here was to try to write something different."

"That's true. And I have been doing that." He paused, and took another bite of his pancake while she watched him expectantly.

"Like what?" she demanded at last, when it became clear that he wasn't going to elaborate. He smirked.

"Why, Officer, are you trying to weasel spoilers out of me? I'll never talk. Not even if you put the thumbscrews to me."

"Thumbscrews," she repeated, rolling her eyes. "It's the twenty-first century, Rick."

"Don't try to distract me with logic." That drew a snort of amusement from her.

"Heaven forbid," she chuckled, and they finished the pancakes in companionable silence.

As they were bringing the dishes back to the kitchen for washing, Kate cleared her throat, looked down at the floor, and said quietly, "I'm sorry about, uh, about last night."

He concealed his surprise with some effort. He hadn't expected her to mention it at all.

"Kate, you've gotta stop apologizing to me. It isn't necessary," he said, taking the dirty plate from her. He deliberately let his fingers brush hers, and felt a thrill go up his spine. The way her head came up, her wide eyes finding his, told him that she had felt it too. "Especially not for kissing me," he added boldly. "You can feel free to do that any time."

"Oh," she breathed, staring up at him, her eyes dark.

He had meant it as a joke - mostly - but upon seeing her reaction, he suddenly wasn't sure at all whether he had drawn the right conclusion about her. She wasn't looking at him like a woman who regretted the kiss last night. Not at all.

It was sorely tempting to push her back against the kitchen counter and start up again where they had left off last night - but he wasn't that kind of guy. Not without being completely sure that it was what she wanted. So he just turned to put the dishes into the sink, and when he turned around again, all he saw was her back, disappearing into her bedroom once more. The door closed quietly behind her and he let out a sigh of disappointment.


	5. Chapter 5

The only thing Rick could do was wash the dishes and get back to work. Today, when he went outside with his notebook and pencil, he decided to carry one of the deck chairs down onto the grass. The sky was still grey and gloomy, but the grass was dried out and tickled his feet pleasantly as he sat.

His brain was still a little sluggish from sleep, so he started off slowly, but soon found himself back in the zone. He wrote steadily, first sitting on the chair, then lying on his stomach on the grass, and then back in the chair again.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the door of the cabin open and close. But it must have been a while, judging by how stiff his muscles were. Groaning, he stood up and stretched.

Kate was on the porch, another cup of coffee in her hand, a book under her arm. Not one of his, he immediately noticed.

She raised her coffee cup briefly in his direction, then sat down in the other deck chair on the porch, facing the lake. She put her coffee cup on the side table, crossed her legs, and opened the book.

Rick walked a few circles around the lawn, stretching his legs and getting the blood flowing again. Then he went inside, poured himself a cup from the new pot of coffee that Kate had brewed, and returned to his chair on the grass.

The clouds had thinned somewhat, and the sun was visible as a bright spot behind the haze. It was strong enough that Rick had to move his chair several times to keep the glare off his laptop screen.

The sun had traveled a considerable distance across the sky, and was beginning its slow downward arc, when he surfaced from his creative zone again and realized that Kate had gone back inside. He finished the paragraph he had been writing, then stood up to stretch again. His laptop clock told him that it had been several hours since he came out here, so it was definitely time for a break.

He put his laptop on the porch table, under the roof overhang - just in case - and wandered down to the end of the dock. He sat down and let his bare feet dangle over the water, the way Kate had been doing this morning when he got up. It was quiet and peaceful. A slight breeze rustled the trees, but otherwise everything was calm.

After a few minutes, he sensed Kate approaching from behind. She walked along the dock and sat down next to him. She had changed into her yoga pants and tank top again, and her feet were bare, like his.

"Break time?" she observed, and he nodded.

"Yep." He looked out over the water. "Nice and peaceful today."

"It usually is," she said wistfully. "Or at least, it usually was, when we used to come out here." She sighed. But her voice was steady, calmer than the previous times she'd talked about her memories.

He cocked his head curiously. "You almost say that like it's a bad thing."

"Well, you know." She shrugged, looking embarrassed. "When you're a kid, the distance between peaceful and boring is pretty short."

He couldn't help smiling. "Right. I guess it could get old."

"Yeah." She seemed to shake off the momentary melancholy, then, straightening her shoulders. "It's nice out here today, though."

"It is." He glanced sideways at her. "So ... you planning to take another 'refreshing' swim?"

She shook her head slowly. "Nah, I don't think so. Not right now."

"Oh, good," he said, pretending to wipe his brow in relief. "I don't think my manly self-image could handle it."

She laughed softly. "I'm really not worried about your self-image." She leaned sideways, bumping his shoulder with hers, a teasing gesture that nevertheless sent sparks across his skin from that small point of contact.

He turned to look at her fully, and found her closer than he had realized. Her eyes were large, fixed on him, and he could see the golden highlights sparkling within the green of her irises.

"So," he said hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry, "if not a swim, then how are you planning to spend your break?"

She was so close now that he could feel her breath feathering across his chin. "You're the procrastination expert," she murmured. "I thought you might have some suggestions."

"I could probably think of something," he agreed, and then he took the leap. He closed the small distance between them, capturing her lips with his.

Kate responded immediately, pressing into the kiss, her mouth opening under his. Her hands slid up his shoulders and into his hair, and she moaned softly, a gorgeous little sound in the back of her throat that he wanted to hear again and again. He wrapped his arms around her and lost himself in exploration of her mouth, savoring the press of her upper body against his.

When his hands grew bolder and slipped underneath the bottom hem of her tank top to find smooth, warm skin, she pulled back, panting.

"Rick," she said, and oh yeah, that was one of the many ways he'd wanted to hear her say his name - on a breathless gasp, punctuated by a tiny whimper when he dragged his fingernails lightly across her spine.

"Yeah?" he responded, leaning in again to kiss her once more, quick and hot.

"Let's go inside," she whispered against his lips.

Desire washed over him, so powerful it left him dizzy. She didn't mean - did she?

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded firmly. "Oh yeah."

She kissed him again, with a dirty swipe of her tongue, and then she was standing up, walking away, shooting him a look over her shoulder that had him scrambling to his feet and rushing to join her.

He caught up with her partway across the lawn, curled his palms around her hips and tugged her back against him. The messy ponytail she'd put her hair into left her neck conveniently bare for him to kiss and nibble, making her back arch and her breath catch. She pressed her ass into the curve of his pelvis, unashamed, knowing exactly what she was doing to him.

He groaned wordlessly against her neck, and she tugged him forward with her hands around his forearms.

"Come on," she breathed huskily, leading him toward the cabin, even while she was turning her head to kiss him again, sloppy and wet and haphazard but utterly, intensely arousing.

But when they had stumbled their way through the door and halfway across the living room, a thought suddenly struck Rick, stabbing through the fog of lust and making him stop short in the middle of the room, saying, "Wait ... wait."

"What?" Kate asked, turning in his arms, looking up at his face with a frown.

"I don't ... I," he felt his face flush with embarrassment but forced himself to say it. "I don't have any condoms."

She stared at him, incredulous.

"What?"

"I..."

"Rick." Her chest was heaving with each breath, her mouth swollen from kisses, and the beginning of a hickey starting to bloom on her neck, but she still managed to put enough snap into his name that he flinched guiltily. "Are you serious? You brought three sizes of marshmallows and two flavors of ice cream, but you forgot the condoms?"

"I wasn't expecting-" he exclaimed in protest, but broke off when he detected the tiniest hint of a twinkle in her eye. "Oh my god. You're teasing me? That's so mean, Kate. You're mean."

"I'm sorry," she snickered, not looking particularly sorry at all. "I am." She drew closer, pulled his head down for another searing kiss, her hands wandering his chest, caressing him until he could hardly think. "Anyway, I'm on the pill," she rasped, "and I'm clean."

"Oh." He breathed out relief, allowed himself to touch her again, pulling her hips against his so she couldn't go anywhere while she was tonguing his chin, suckling on the tender skin under his jaw, while his hand was sneaking up under her shirt to find the curve of a breast. "Oh, uh, yeah. Me too."

"Okay then," she murmured, and tugged him toward the bedrooms. Their mouths fused again, breathless moans breaking the silence of the small cabin.

Without giving it much thought, he steered her to the room that he had been sleeping in, but when he opened the door, Kate pulled away from him and hesitated.

"No..."

"What's wrong?" he asked, panting, staring at her. She was blushing and looking down at the floor.

"I ... I just..." She grimaced in embarrassment and muttered, "That was my parents' room." She shuddered slightly. "I just, it's too weird. I can't."

"Oh." A grin touched his lips, try though he might to restrain it. "Okay, sure, I get it. Your room, then."

"Yeah." Tentatively, she returned his grin. "Okay."

He closed the door to the larger bedroom and let her pull him into the smaller one, her hands busy at the buttons of his shirt.

* * *

It wasn't too surprising, he thought later, that Kate Beckett liked to be on top. Given what he knew about her personality so far, it fit.

And he certainly wasn't complaining. Not at all. After he had pinned her to the sheets and expertly shattered her with his mouth and fingers - twice - he was more than happy to lie back and watch as she rocked on top of him like a goddess, like something out of a dream. Her hair curling gently around her face, her cheeks flushed, her body sheened with sweat, her breasts bouncing enticingly - she was incredible. Extraordinary.

And loud. It was a good thing there weren't any neighbors nearby.

Afterward, they lay side-by-side, pleasantly limp. Her bed was only a full-size, so it was a little cramped, but Rick didn't mind that either; he was a cuddler by nature anyway. He tugged Kate against him and wrapped his arm around her. After a moment's hesitation, she acquiesced and let her head rest on his shoulder.

"Best distraction ever?" he offered drowsily, and felt her grin against his chest.

"You certainly are the master of procrastination," she teased.

"I take great pride in my work," he replied, savoring the sensation of her naked body pressed against his.

After a moment's silence, she said softly, "It's good to form some new memories of this place."

He blinked up at the ceiling, letting the words sink in, thinking about everything that they meant. About the demons she was battling, the emotions she had come here to face, all by herself.

"I'm glad I could help with that," he murmured, hoping it sounded as sincere as he felt.

Then, as usual, he resorted to humor to lighten the mood. "So, what, you never brought a boy here during your rebellious teenage wild-child phase?"

"No way," she snorted. "Too much trouble to get all the way up here without my parents finding out."

Rick rolled over onto his side, dislodging her from his shoulder. She lay back on the pillow, smirking up at him, looking more relaxed than he had seen her since the moment they met.

"I notice that you don't deny having gone through a wild-child phase," he said, letting his voice drop down to a low growl that rumbled in the air between them.

"Who says it's over?" she responded, her eyes twinkling.

He couldn't help laughing, and then he bent down and kissed her. He intended to make it just a quick peck, but her arm snaked around his neck faster than he could react, and she held him there, turning the kiss deeper, darker, hotter.

He groaned into her mouth, and she pulled him on top of her, spreading her legs wide around his hips.

"Distract me some more," she husked into his ear, and he did.

* * *

Rick awoke from a light doze - he hadn't even realized he had fallen half-asleep - to find Kate slipping out of the bed and the sky beginning to darken outside.

"Wha-?" he mumbled, but she tugged the sheet over him and the lull of sleep pulled him back down.

When he woke again, it couldn't have been more than a few minutes; he sat up and found Kate pulling on some clothes, her hair still damp from the shower.

"Come back," he beseeched, disappointed to see her fully dressed, but she narrowed her eyes at him and ignored his outstretched hand.

"Break time's over," she announced firmly. "Time to get back to work."

Her eyes darted toward the bureau, and the thick manila folder on top of it, which he hadn't noticed before. Her mysterious case file, he realized, and she didn't want him to see it.

"Right. Back to work, right." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay."

He got out of the bed, stark naked. Kate blushed a little and averted her eyes, which made him grin.

"Look all you want, Officer." He sauntered past her to the door. "It's a free country."

He took a brief shower, and when he came out, Kate had put the bed linens into the laundry, remade the bed, and brewed a new pot of coffee. She was in the kitchen, poking around in the fridge.

"What do you want for dinner?" she asked, as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"I was thinking stir-fry, with that chicken," he replied, leaning against the counter, watching her. "Got plenty of vegetables, and some rice."

"Sounds good." She closed the fridge door and turned, catching him looking at her ass. Her eyes narrowed, but she said only, "We'll work for an hour, and then start cooking."

"I like it when you're bossy."

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was biting back a smile once again. So he gave in to his earlier urge: he pushed her up against the counter and kissed her.

She curved her hand around his neck and kissed him back, her tongue slicking against his, but only for a moment. Then she was pushing him away, the stern look back in her eyes.

"Don't you have some work to do?"

"Nope," he lied cheerfully, and she scoffed and tossed her head.

"Well, I do." And she went back into her room and closed the door.

He took a few slow, deep breaths, and went to find his laptop and notebook, and his chair on the lawn.

He was surprised by how quickly the hour went by. He'd thought that there was no way he would be able to get back to writing, not with his mind still spinning from the amazing sex and the deepening connection he felt with Kate; but once he opened up his new document, the words began to flow in a torrent. His fingers could hardly keep up with his brain.

Eventually the sound of Kate moving around in the kitchen wafted into his awareness. He got up, stretched, took a long moment to admire the sunset painting the sky with broad streaks of pink and purple. Then he picked up his things and went inside to find Kate preparing to chop the vegetables.

"You can do the chicken," she said, so he got the chicken out of the fridge and set to work.

It was strange, sharing the small kitchen area with Kate, preparing food side-by-side: not something he was accustomed to - although he did often have Alexis as an audience or sous-chef when he cooked - and made more awkward by the fact that he really wasn't sure what their status was now. It had been a long time since he'd been so uncertain about how to behave around a woman after going to bed with her. Each time the close proximity of the kitchen caused them to brush up against each other, he didn't know whether he should apologize or just enjoy it.

He couldn't tell much from Kate's body language, either. She seemed tense, but no more so than usual. Her expression was all business, focused on chopping the vegetables and setting the rice to cook while he prepared the chicken. Then she set the table while he cooked the stir-fry. As he carried the food to the table, he couldn't help thinking about how easy and comfortable the teamwork had been. It was so very domestic, something he might once have sneered at, but here and now he was enjoying it.

"Tell me about your daughter," Kate requested, as they sat down and began to eat.

"Alexis?" He felt a smile leap unbidden to his lips at the thought of his fabulous, perfect child. "She's great. She's really smart, and she keeps me in line."

"That's a big job for a little kid," Kate murmured, smirking down at her plate.

"Ouch," he exclaimed, grinning back, "but it's true. I don't know how on earth Meredith and I managed to create such a sensible child."

He launched into a story about Alexis's love of reading, and then another one about their most recent trip to the museum, and he was just beginning another story when he caught sight of Kate staring at him, a little smile on her lips. Her eyes were soft, almost affectionate.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," she smiled, shaking her head, "just, the way your whole face lights up when you talk about Alexis. It's really sweet."

"Oh. Well," he said, flustered. "She's the best thing I've ever done with my life."

"She sounds like a great kid."

Now it was his turn to study Kate with a small smile. It occurred to him that most of the women he ... spent time with ... weren't interested in hearing about Alexis at all. Although they loved the _idea_ of a single father, they usually didn't show any curiosity about his daughter or any desire to learn more about that part of his life.

He ate a few more bites, pondering this, and was so deep in his own thoughts that he almost missed the next thing Kate said - especially because she said it so very quietly.

"Should I call my dad?"

Rick's eyebrows went up, and he looked over at her, surprised. She was staring at her plate, her forehead creased. He wondered if she even realized that she had said it aloud.

But when he didn't respond, after a moment, she lifted her head and looked at him.

"What do you think?"

"Um." A thousand thoughts whirled through his mind. "You, you really haven't spoken to him in all this time? Since-?"

"Years," she said uncomfortably. "Since about nine months after my mom ... Since he found out I was transferring to NYU to study criminal justice."

"So you and he argued about becoming a cop."

"That," she sighed, "and everything else, you know? His drinking. It was getting worse and he wouldn't go to therapy or AA. He wouldn't talk to me about her. I needed him," she said, suddenly vehement. "I needed a parent. I was just a kid and he abandoned me."

Rick blew out a slow breath, sitting back in his chair. So much more of the story was becoming clearer. Kate's anger and resentment were completely understandable, he thought, but he could only barely begin to imagine how Jim must have felt, losing his beloved wife to violence. Escape into the bottle had probably looked pretty good. And then to hear that his daughter was going into one of the most dangerous professions imaginable? It was hard to avoid sympathizing with the man.

But Jim wasn't the one sitting here asking him, Rick, for advice.

"I think..." he said slowly. "I think that if you're going to call him, you'd want to be sure it's for the right reasons. And no matter what you're hoping for, you should prepare yourself to be disappointed, just in case."

She grimaced, but nodded. "Makes sense," she said reluctantly.

"I guess I didn't really answer the question," Rick ventured, but she shook her head, brushing that aside.

"It's okay." She ate another bite of chicken, sipped her water, sighed. "It was dumb to think that coming here would just magically make everything clear."

"Is that why you came?" he asked, more pieces of the picture slotting into place. "To revisit old memories, see how it felt? To find out if you were-" _healed enough,_ he thought, but chose instead to say "-ready to make contact with your dad?"

Kate glanced up at him, her forehead furrowed, and he saw apprehension flash across her face before she turned it down toward her plate once again. "Partly," she muttered.

Rick took the hint and didn't push any more.

They finished eating and cleared the table. Rick washed the dishes while Kate wiped down the table and kitchen counters. Then she spent a few minutes wandering around the living room, looking at the decorations and furniture, occasionally biting her lip. His back was to her as he stood in the kitchen doing the dishes, but he could see her reflection in the window above the sink, so he watched her surreptitiously, wondering what she was thinking about. What other demons might she need to face? What other bits and pieces of herself, of her story, might she reveal to him before she left?

She stood staring at the photos on the mantelpiece for quite a while, and then she turned and went outside.

Rick finished the dishes and went out after her.

He didn't have to go far. She was on the porch, looking out, not over the lake but back toward the road. Darkness had fallen, although it wasn't too late yet, and the road was hardly visible at the end of the driveway.

"You're leaving tomorrow?" Rick said, already feeling unhappy at the thought. He had planned on being alone here the whole time, it was true, but now that he had spent two and a half days with Kate for company, the thought of another five days here by himself was far less appealing.

"Yeah," she nodded, "if it doesn't rain any more overnight, the road will be usable again in the morning." She glanced sideways at him. "I'll probably want to leave on the early side, just to be sure I'll get back. Gotta be on shift first thing the next day."

"Makes sense," he said. _I don't want you to go,_ he thought childishly, but somehow he didn't quite have the nerve to give voice to that thought.

He studied Kate's profile, looking for any sign of what she was thinking, but her face was in shadow.

Rick rubbed his upper arms. He was still only wearing a t-shirt, and it wasn't adequate to the deepening October night. "Getting cold out here," he said. "I'm going back in."

"Okay," she said, but made no move to join him. So he went back inside by himself.

He went into his bedroom for a sweater, and as he was pulling it out of his suitcase, he thought about whether he would have the guts to invite Kate to share his bed tonight. Would she still find it too unnerving to be in what she thought of as her parents' bed? More importantly, would it be too presumptuous of him? Of course he wanted to have sex with her again - among other things - but he had no idea what she might be expecting, or wanting.

Mulling over that, he emerged into the living room again and found her just coming in from outside, hugging her shoulders against the chill.

"Hot cocoa?" he suggested, and she nodded eagerly.

"Yes, please. I think there's enough wood for another fire."

By the time he had made the cocoa, she had gotten a small fire going. They sat side by side on the couch, a good two feet apart, drinking their cocoa and watching the flames. Rick felt awkward again, unsure whether moving closer to Kate - and perhaps putting an arm around her - would be acceptable.

Just as he had convinced himself to try it, she put down her cup and got up.

"Let's play a game," she said, moving toward the shelf where he had spotted all of the board games the previous day.

"See, I told you strip poker would be a great distraction," he said with an eyebrow waggle, at which she rolled her eyes.

"Still not gonna happen." She came back over with the box marked _Checkers_.

"Strip checkers? Kinky," he teased, and was rewarded by another of those little trying-not-to-smile smiles.

"Shut up and choose your color."

Kate won the first game, after which Rick demanded a rematch; she won the second game as well, and the third.

"Don't sulk," she scolded as she gathered up the checkers and began replacing them on the board for a new game.

"I'm not sulking. I'm trying to figure out how you cheated."

Kate scoffed. "I don't cheat. You're just too much of a child to admit that you lost fair and square."

"Oh, I think I've proved pretty thoroughly that I'm all grown up." He smirked, watching the blush creep across her cheeks before she turned her head away to hide it.

"Shut up," she said again, but there was no bite in it.

He reached over and took her hand, a checker falling from her fingers onto the board, unnoticed, as he used the hand to tug her closer to him. He thought she might resist, pull away, but she didn't. She let him pull her in, and turned her face up toward him in a silent invitation that he gladly accepted.

He kissed her slowly, releasing her hand to slide his arms around her, and she gripped his shoulders and returned the kiss without hesitation.

But just as his fingers were slipping under her shirt and upward, the phone rang. They both jumped, startled.

"Ignore it," Rick urged hoarsely, leaning in again, but Kate shook her head and pulled back, pushing his hands away.

"No, it's probably your daughter. You should answer it."

It was indeed Alexis, and by the time she finished telling him every last detail of everything she had done with Meredith over the past two days, Kate had gone into the bathroom, come out again, and disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door.

Rick stood for a long moment outside the door, yearning to lift his hand and knock. But he couldn't muster up the nerve. So at last he sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and retreated to his own bed with his laptop. He stayed up into the wee hours of the night again, with the crickets and the bullfrog providing counterpoint to the clicking of his keyboard.


	6. Chapter 6

It was nearly two in the morning when Rick finally put his laptop aside and sank down into the bed, falling asleep almost immediately. He woke again only a few hours later, to a sudden gust of chilly air against his side and a dip in the mattress next to him.

"Hey," said a husky voice, and he thought fuzzily that this was one of his favorite dreams: the one where a gorgeous naked woman slipped into his bed and woke him with her hands on his body and her lips at his ear.

But then her cold toes brushed his calves and he was abruptly awake, realizing with a jolt that it wasn't a dream. It really was - holy shit - a nude Kate Beckett letting herself into his bed, her hands exploring boldly under the covers while he struggled to catch up. Mentally, that is. Physically he was already, well, _ready_.

"Kate?" he murmured sleepily, and felt her undulating against his side, humming softly with pleasure.

"Don't talk," she said, rolling on top of him.

So he didn't. His mouth was otherwise occupied in any case.

* * *

He woke up again as pale light was just beginning to touch the windows; he turned his head to see Kate still there, asleep next to him. He lay still for a while, just looking at her face. In the relaxation of sleep she looked younger, calmer. Serene. She really was beautiful.

"Stop staring," she said without opening her eyes. "It's creepy."

"I'm not staring," he lied, embarrassed.

"You are too. Go back to sleep," she sighed, and shifted her body away, preparing to get out of the bed.

"Wait, don't get up yet," he protested, reaching for her. "It's too early."

"Sun's up," she said, slipping out of his grasp. She lifted her head and glanced around the room, and he saw her face flush pink. She quickly diverted her eyes downward as she dropped her feet to the floor.

Oh, yeah. Her parents' room, and she had spent the night in it. Well, part of the night. The dark must have made it easier.

"Go back to sleep," she said again, over her shoulder, and padded out.

He didn't want to go back to sleep. When he heard the shower start up, he knew that was where he wanted to be: in the shower with her, naked and warm and slippery. But he had only gotten a few hours' sleep, and before he could rouse himself enough to actually get out of the bed, lead weights dragged his eyelids back down.

He woke again when the bathroom door opened, and groaned at the realization that he had missed his chance to join Kate in the shower. This time he did manage to drag himself out of bed, and went alone into the shower, which was tantalizingly scented like Kate's shampoo and body wash. He pouted the whole time he was washing himself.

When he was dried and dressed, he picked up his notebook, flipped to a blank page, and grabbed a pen. He went out into the little hallway and knocked on the other bedroom's door.

"Kate?"

She opened the door, her eyebrows already raised questioningly. "What?"

He saw that her duffel bag was on the bed, all packed up and zipped shut. The sight made him want to pout even more.

"Here," he said, holding the notebook and pen toward her. "Can I - will you give me your phone number, address, email?"

She sucked in a breath, and her expression was wary, almost fearful. "Why?"

"Um," he said, surprised, "well, so I can call you and ask you out. I mean, you didn't think this was just a one-time thing?"

From the look on her face, he realized that that was exactly what she had thought. His heart sank.

"Kate," he said softly. "I want to see you again. Please."

"I ... I'm not," she stammered hesitantly. "I'm not really ... dating right now. Or anything." She was shrinking backward, retreating into herself, and he wanted to kick himself for pushing too hard. Again.

It was stupid of him, he told himself: so stupid to think that she - They barely knew each other.

But that was the point, wasn't it? He was completely enthralled by her. He wanted to know everything about her. He couldn't stand the idea that they would both go back to the city and resume their separate lives.

But neither could he force her into anything. If she didn't want it - him - he would have to accept that.

"Okay," he made himself say, and turned away.

Almost on autopilot, he went into the kitchen and started the coffee. He took eggs from the fridge, and cheese, thinking that he would make an omelet. Maybe cooking would take his mind off of ... everything.

When he opened the cabinet to look for the mixing bowl, his eye fell on the packages of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers left from their s'mores the other night. He found himself taking the items out and putting them on the counter. He looked at them while he was cracking eggs into the bowl and whisking them.

What would marshmallows be like in an omelet instead of cheese? For that matter, he could put in some chocolate too, and some crushed graham cracker crumbs. It would be like a s'more inside an omelet. An om-s'more. No! ... a s'morelet.

Well, maybe that would be weird. Kate might not appreciate that particular kind of creativity. He should probably wait until it was just him, alone here.

He sighed, feeling melancholy all over again, and reached to turn on the burner under the pan.

Kate emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, duffel bag in hand. He had already poured her a cup of coffee and set out two plates.

"Thanks," she said diffidently when he pushed the mug and the container of creamer toward her.

"No problem." He gestured with the spatula toward the pan. "Cheese in your omelet?"

"Um. Sure." She shifted from one foot to the other. "You don't have to make me breakfast."

"I like to cook."

Breakfast was quiet and awkward. Rick was feeling like an idiot for having presumed that Kate would want anything to do with him once the weekend was over. If they hadn't been trapped here by the flooded road, he reminded himself, she could have been rid of him much sooner. It was only Mother Nature that had forced Kate to tolerate him for these few days. So he was mentally berating himself for his presumption the whole time he was eating his omelet.

As for what she was thinking and feeling, he had no idea. She was as much of a mystery as ever.

When they had finished eating, she insisted on washing the dishes. He left her to it and went out to look at the road. Yes, he could admit it to himself: in the back of his mind he was hoping for some new problem to arise that would make it impossible for Kate to leave.

No such luck. The road had completely dried out, and, in fact, a car went by just as Rick was standing there looking at it. It was an old beater that bounced and jounced over the many newly formed potholes, but it got through with no trouble.

He sighed and turned back toward the cabin, just as Kate came out the door with her bag in hand and began strapping it onto the back of her motorcycle.

"So," Rick said, still feeling stupid and oafish, "heading out, huh?"

"Yeah," she agreed, glancing guardedly at him. "Best to get an early start. Could be slow going until the highway."

"Did you..." The question sprang free before he even fully understood how badly he wanted to know. "Did you at least get some closure? I mean, some healing? Seeing this place again, for the first time since. You know."

"Yeah." She nodded slowly, letting her gaze sweep across the lawn, the lake, the forest beyond, the cabin. "Yeah, it was good. Healing, I guess, like you said."

"Good. That's good," he said sincerely. "And, uh, what about your case? Did you make much progress on it?"

"Not really."

He had thought it was an innocent question, but her face twisted unhappily with her answer, and that haunted look was back in her eyes. And just like that, the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"It's your mother's case, isn't it?" he blurted out.

Her eyes widened in shock; her jaw actually dropped. Her whole body tensed up, but he barreled onward.

"Your mother's murder was never solved. That's why you became a cop - to find out who killed her."

"You're too damn smart for your own good," she snapped, her voice wavering, her glare burning a hole through his head. "It's none of your business."

"You're right." He deflated, lifting his hands in supplication, in apology. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should just shut up."

Her expression softened slightly, although her shoulders were still raised and tense, her jaw still clenched. "It's just," she said, and he could see what an effort it took her to keep her tone steady, "it's just, I could get in trouble. I'm not supposed to - It took me this long just to get into the records room without raising suspicion, just to get a look at the file. I'm a rookie. I'm not even supposed to be looking at cold cases."

"I get it," he said, and he did. He knew this much about her: that her drive and determination would admit to no barriers. It must have been maddening to her, the time needed to work her way through the entire training process, to become a cop and gain access to the information she wanted. "It's okay. Your secret's safe with me."

She blew out a breath, and a little more of the tension left her body, though her eyes were still cloudy with residual agitation. "Thanks."

"No problem. And I, I really hope you find them. Whoever did it."

She grimaced, grief and sorrow flashing across her face again. "I will. But it won't be enough."

He nodded slowly. "But it'll be something."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Something."

Rick scuffed his feet. "So, um." Hesitantly, he held out his hand. "Um, thanks for keeping me out of trouble."

She huffed a small laugh. "I don't know about that. But, um, thanks for ... helping me be here."

To his surprise, she bypassed his proffered handshake and moved in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his torso. He hugged her back, feeling relieved that at least they were going to part on friendly terms.

"Ride safely on the way back, okay?" he said as she stepped back out of the hug and pulled her helmet on. She gave him a sour look, rolling her eyes as her fingers worked the buckles.

"Sure thing, grandpa."

"Ouch," he laughed, but then he could only watch, dry-mouthed, as she flung one impossibly long leg over the seat of the motorcycle and settled herself down, straddling the gleaming machine.

Shit, that was hot.

She flashed him one last chastising glare - reading his mind again, he was sure - and then she kicked the starter and the bike roared to life. She saluted him with a hand, then gripped the handlebars and turned the bike around. She bumped cautiously down the driveway and around the corner, and within moments she was no more than a barely-heard rumble in the distance.

Rick turned and trudged back toward the cabin, already feeling lonely and at loose ends. The isolation and quiet of the place, which had been its draw in the first place - which had seemed like such a welcome change, just a few days ago - now felt oppressive and somehow punitive.

But he reminded himself forcefully that he had come here to write, not to meet women - even incredibly fascinating, mysterious, beautiful women - not to get drawn into someone else's story, not to let himself get distracted. Just to write. So he should write.

Reluctantly, he fetched his laptop and went back to the chair on the lawn. It was shaping up to be another beautiful sunny day, the clear blue sky and merrily chirping birds only making him feel more grouchy.

But when he plopped down onto the chair, something crinkled in the back pocket of his jeans. Curious, he leaned forward so that he could get his hand into the pocket and pull out a piece of paper.

He recognized it immediately as a sheet torn from his notebook, and his heart began to hammer excitedly in his chest when he unfolded it and saw what was written.

_Kate Beckett_ , it said, followed by an email address, a phone number, and a street address. She must have slipped it into his pocket when she hugged him goodbye.

Delight fluttered in his belly as he ran his eyes over the loops and lines of her handwriting. Another little piece of Kate revealed, and more: an invitation.

He hastened to copy the information into his computer, just in case, and then folded the little piece of paper carefully and put it back in his pocket.

Then he settled back into the chair, feeling immeasurably happier than a few minutes ago, and began to write.

* * *

Rick wrote for about an hour, and then began to feel restless. He stretched and went inside for an apple. Suddenly, everything he looked at inside the cabin made him think of Kate. He couldn't concentrate on anything, so he indulged in a lengthy computer solitaire session, then went back inside and put together a sandwich for his lunch.

The fridge was starting to look a little bare, so after eating the sandwich he decided to take advantage of his new freedom to go back into town. He eased the Mercedes carefully down the driveway and over the bumps and ruts of the road, breathing a sigh of relief when he made it to the larger paved road that led into town.

At the supermarket, after collecting the food items he needed, he found his way to the "Health and Wellness" aisle and stood for a while looking at the condom display, remembering Kate's teasing. He grinned, and blushed, and grinned some more, and dithered. Finally he grabbed a box of condoms, telling himself, _Just in case. You never know._

After loading the groceries into the car, he paused and considered. It was tempting to walk back over to the little diner, to see his old friend Linda the waitress again. But he wasn't hungry, nor was he at all confident that he'd be able to keep a straight face while chatting with Linda and not letting on that Kate had been up at the cabin. He knew without a doubt that there was no way Kate would want the town gossips - who had known her since she was a child - getting hold of that information.

So he bypassed the diner, and went back to the cabin.

It was a long day. He struggled to focus on his writing, making almost no progress at all. By the time the sun went down and the crickets began their nightly serenade, he was thoroughly frustrated.

He decided to make chicken parmigiana for dinner. Pounding the chicken flat with the meat hammer relieved some of his aggravation, at least temporarily. But after the food had cooked and he had eaten it, staring morosely at the empty chair opposite him, he found himself wandering outside again, still grumpy.

Darkness had fallen, and the lake was still and quiet. The stars were just beginning to come out. Rick walked to the end of the dock and sat down, his feet dangling over the water, his thoughts roiling.

Slowly, even against his will, he felt the calm of the place begin to seep into his bones. It was hard to sit here with the broad expanse of water stretching out before him, the infinite sky above, and the dense mystery of the forest in between, and stay mired in his petty little problems. He reminded himself that he only had four more days here, anyway. On Saturday he would drive back to the city, and on Sunday he would pick Alexis up at the airport, and they would get back to their lives.

The thought of his daughter cheered him up. He began to ruminate about how he would describe this place to her: the cabin with its homey furnishings and modern conveniences; the wide grassy lawn; the peaceful lake, which would be great for swimming in the summer, he was sure. Maybe he and Alexis could come up here together sometime next year, after school let out.

He went back inside and distracted himself for a good long time by looking at the calendar and contemplating all the things he could do with Alexis during school vacation. Yes, it was a little ridiculous to be planning next summer in October, but at least it was something to do. He resolutely ignored the open word-processing documents on his laptop, taunting him with their screenfuls of blank space and, perhaps worse, their screenfuls of terrible prose that he would have to fix.

He played computer games until nearly midnight, and then put himself to bed.

* * *

The next day was Wednesday, and it was excruciating. Rick struggled to put words on the page, any words at all, let alone any halfway decent ones.

In the late morning, he tried making a s'morelet for the first time. It was not a resounding success. He took some mental notes while he scrubbed burnt marshmallow and chocolate out of the pan; further experimentation would be called for.

After another frustrating hour or two of trying to write, he decided to take a walk in the woods. He followed the path that he thought Kate had taken, when she went for a walk that first day; but he was nervous about getting lost, so he didn't go much farther after reaching the point where he could no longer see the cabin behind him.

In the forest, where the sun couldn't penetrate all the way to the ground, the dirt and leaves and moss underfoot were still surprisingly wet from the storm. Rick slipped several times, and landed on his butt twice, bruising his pride more than anything else. He got back to the cabin grumpy and with mud caked down both legs of his jeans.

After the jeans had gone into the laundry and he had put on a fresh pair, he sat himself down and forced himself to write for another hour. Then he gave up and decided to call the day a loss. He spent the rest of the evening half-heartedly reading one of the old novels on the bookshelf and playing checkers against himself.

* * *

Thursday was no better. The second s'morelet was more successful; he thought it was delicious, in fact, and resolved to make one for Alexis as soon as possible. But the day only went downhill from there. He was bored, restless, and completely lacking in inspiration or motivation to write.

At 5:00 that evening, he sat staring at the little piece of paper bearing Kate's phone number, wondering what time she got off shift.

At 5:30, he picked up the phone, then forced himself to hang it up and eat a snack instead.

At 6:00, he walked a lap around the cabin, then another. Then he went back inside, picked up the phone again, and dialed.

It rang once. Twice. Thrice. He had almost convinced himself that she wasn't home, that he should give it up, that she never wanted to see him again - and then the ringing stopped and he heard it. Her voice. He had already missed it so badly that his pulse was thundering in his ears.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi," he managed, his throat dry. "Um, hi, Kate, it's me, Rick. Rick Castle."

"Rick?" There was a pause, during which he desperately wished he could see her face, to try to figure out what she was thinking. "You called," she said at last.

"Um, yeah. I said I would, right? And you gave me your number."

"Yeah, but I didn't-" She cut herself off and amended, "What's up?"

"Nothing, I just, um." He cursed himself for stammering. Where was his legendary suavity? It was just a phone conversation with a woman, for heaven's sake. "Uh, how was your day?"

"Really," she said drily, a hint of amusement tinging her tone. "You called to ask about my day?"

"Yeah," he said firmly, regaining his mental footing. Kate Beckett being sarcastic at him was the natural order of things, after all. "I want to hear about your day. I'm curious."

"Well..." He could almost see her biting her lip in that alluring way of hers. "It was just a regular day, you know, regular cop stuff."

"Details, Officer," he exclaimed. "I need all the details. I'm always interested in how things work. Police procedure, the day-to-day life of a rookie cop."

"It's just not that interesting," she demurred, but he persisted.

"Sure it is. Come on, satisfy my curiosity."

"Oh, fine," she huffed, and went on to describe the precinct house where she worked, the duty roster, the cantankerous desk sergeant, her hours of traffic duty, more hours spent walking the streets looking for a robbery suspect, and finally a long stretch of time spent filling out paperwork.

"See," she said when she was finished, "boring."

"Not at all," he smiled softly, "it was fascinating. Really." And it had been. He'd taken a lot of notes, in between moments of getting lost in the sound of her voice.

"You're always so full of questions," she grumbled, but he could tell that she wasn't really upset.

"It sounds like it was a long day, though," he said. "You must be tired. Have you eaten?"

"I'm not tired," she denied. "I had some sushi. It's early yet."

"Good, then you won't mind answering another question."

"I guess," she sighed, trying to sound exasperated, but failing. "Go ahead."

"I was just wondering," he said, grinning, and letting his voice fall into that low, growly register, "what are you wearing?"

"Rick!" she exclaimed, not bothering to hide her laugh this time. "I am not having phone sex with you. Forget it."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it, Officer," he needled, grinning some more. The sparkling sound of her laugh had cheered him up considerably.

"No," she said firmly. "God, you must be more bored than I thought. Are you even getting any writing done?"

"A little," he said defensively. "You can't rush the creative process."

"Why do I get the feeling that the only kind of creativity you've been indulging in is finding new and different ways to procrastinate?"

"I resent the accusation," he huffed, and was rewarded by another soft laugh.

"I just bet you do."

Then he heard her stifle a yawn. "You are tired," he said quietly. "I should let you go."

"Well ... I guess," she replied, with enough reluctance that his chest fluttered with pleasure.

"Can I call you again tomorrow?"

"Hmm..." He could almost see her holding back a smile as she pretended to think about it. "Only if you get a really good amount of writing done."

"You're a tough taskmaster, Kate Beckett."

"And you're an incorrigible slacker, Rick Castle."

"Ooh," he said, "that's a great word, incorrigible. It's so hot when you use long words like that."

" _Rick._ "

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said quickly. "And, and sometime after I get back into town, I can ask you out, right? For a real date?"

She paused, just long enough for him to begin to worry, but then, "Okay. Yeah." Her voice was soft, but he could hear the smile hiding inside it.

"Okay," he repeated, trying not to let his voice betray the furious pounding of his heart, the excitement rushing through his veins. "Until tomorrow, Kate."

"Good night," she said.

* * *

Friday morning dawned bright and sunny again, although there was noticeably more of a chill in the air, and more orange and red leaves on the ground than there had been the day before.

It was Rick's last full day at the cabin, and he knew that he should make the most of it. He should eat his s'morelet and then buckle down and write all day.

Instead, he packed up all of his belongings, wiped down the stove and countertop, made the bed, took out the trash, put his suitcase and the remaining groceries into the car, and drove back to the city.

Arriving in Manhattan at midafternoon, he went directly to his loft. "Mr. Castle," said the doorman in surprise, "didn't expect you back till tomorrow."

"Came back early," he replied cheerfully, breezing into the elevator.

Home at last, he showered and changed into clean clothes. Then he went out again and drove to Kate's neighborhood, parked his car, and spent some time wandering around the area, scouting likely locations for a first date. It wasn't a neighborhood he was particularly familiar with, but there were a couple of restaurants he knew.

He found a little flower shop and bought a smallish bouquet - okay, a medium-sized bouquet - one that was lovely but restrained. Elegant. Like Kate.

At 5:30 he was loitering in the hallway outside Kate's apartment door, trying to get up the nerve to knock. It took a while, but he finally managed it. He knocked firmly, then waited, holding his breath.

He heard the chain releasing and the bolt unlocking, and then the door opened and there she was. His heart leapt at the sight of her. She was dressed casually, her hair damp from a shower, and her eyes were wide with astonishment.

"Rick?"

"Hi," he said, suddenly feeling almost as shy as if it were his first time speaking to a member of the opposite sex, ever. "Um, surprise?"

"What are you..." She opened the door more fully, her eyes taking in his face, his slacks and button-down shirt and sport jacket, the flowers in his hand. "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

"Yeah, well." He fidgeted, suddenly fearing that _I couldn't wait to see you again_ would be the wrong thing to say. What if-? "I couldn't concentrate," he said instead, allowing some of his embarrassment to show on his face. "I guess, uh, it turns out that peace and solitude aren't really my thing."

"Hmm," she said inscrutably, opening the door wider. "Well, uh, come in."

"Thanks." His confidence began to return. He stepped inside, running his eyes up and down her figure. "Gotta admit I'm a little disappointed, though. I had hoped to catch you still in the uniform."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "It's really not very flattering."

"Oh, I find that hard to believe, Officer." He held out the flowers. "For you."

"Thanks," she said softly. She accepted the flowers and took a sniff, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Kate," he said, screwing up his courage, because damn it, he had come all this way for this, "will you come to dinner with me?"

"What?" He watched her throat move as she swallowed. "Um, you mean tonight? Like, now?"

"Yeah." He nodded eagerly. "There's this great little Chinese place a few blocks away."

"I know it." She turned away, moving into the kitchen to find a vase, fill it with water, and arrange the flowers in it. He felt his shoulders sag, realizing that this was a delaying tactic. She was probably just trying to figure out how to let him down easily.

"Um, but I know you just got off work, so if you're too tired..." he stammered, and trailed off. She didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the flowers, her lower lip caught between her teeth once again.

But after she had set the vase on the kitchen table, she turned back toward him, her eyes dark and dancing.

"What-" he started to say, but her hands came up, landing on his chest. She pushed him back against the wall and kissed him.

"Oh," he gasped, his hands immediately falling to her waist, pulling her body more tightly against him. Her tongue stroked the roof of his mouth and he felt the electric charge of it sizzling across his skin.

"I have a better idea," she husked into his lips. "Let's get takeout."


	7. Chapter 7

"Don't eat all the lo mein," Kate said, trying to grab the carton away from Rick.

"I'm not," he protested, holding it out of her reach. "I just need a little more. You could have ordered your own, you know."

"You said you'd share."

"I am sharing." He shoveled some more noodles onto his plate and handed the carton over. "You're just insatiable."

"True," she agreed with a sly smirk, making him groan and shift in his seat. If they could just get through this meal...

After calling in the takeout order, they had fallen onto her couch and spent the next few minutes making out. It was a good thing the delivery boy had been quick, or they might not have been in any condition to answer his knock.

"So," Kate said, as she was piling her plate with food, "you really couldn't handle one more day of peace and quiet, huh? Was it that bad?"

"No, well, I mean, the cabin is great," he said quickly. "Really great. I was thinking I'd love to bring Alexis there sometime. But trying to write up there, all by myself, wasn't so successful."

"It looked to me like you were doing plenty of writing."

"Well, yeah, sure. Because you were there."

Her head came up sharply, startled. "What?"

"Kate..." He chewed and swallowed a mouthful, buying time to prepare himself for his confession. "I went up to that cabin hoping to find inspiration."

"For a new character, to start a new series after Derrick Storm," she supplied.

"Right. And I found that inspiration. Or, I should say, it found me. _You_ found me."

"Me?" She scowled a little, her eyes guarded, wary. "I'm not an inspiration for anything."

"Oh, but you are. Listen," he sighed, "it was a big mistake on my part, thinking I could find a new character by isolating myself from people. I should have known better - that's not how it works."

"How does it work?" she asked uneasily.

"Characters are people," he explained, warming to the subject. "You have to know people to create characters. Like I told you - everyone has a story, and the more people's stories you hear, the easier it is to create new ones." He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. "And sometimes, a really special character can only be sparked by meeting a really special person."

"That's crazy," Kate said, her voice low and trembling. "I'm nothing special."

"Of course you are," he said simply. "You're extraordinary."

She stared at him, her expression unreadable.

"So you're trying to tell me," she said slowly, after a long uncomfortable moment, "that your new character is based on me? And this is what you were writing while we were - while I was there?"

"Only part of the time," he said defensively. "I also worked on the next Storm book. I'm under contract for that one, so I gotta get it done."

"Hmm," she said, and ate a few more bites, frowning, letting him stew. He had no idea what she was thinking, and the urge to fidget was unbearable. He felt sweat forming on his brow and thought dizzily that she was going to be the most intimidating, most effective detective the NYPD had ever seen.

At last her expression cleared, her shoulders eased downward, and she took a slow sip of her water. "So ... you didn't get any writing done after I left, then?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, I did!" he protested, sitting up straighter. "But ... well, not very much, really."

"Uh-huh," she said, rolling her eyes. "So with no one around to police you, you just waste the whole day playing solitaire and surfing the web, right?"

"It's like you know me," he gushed, and she burst out laughing. He couldn't help smiling himself - he just loved that sound. Besides, somehow it seemed to release the tension, and suddenly things felt easy between them again.

"Tell me about your day," he requested, and Kate shrugged, ducking her head.

"Just another typical day," she said, but this time he didn't have to prod her. She told him all about it, pausing only to take a few bites of her food each time he cut in with a question or comment.

"What else? There must be more," he urged when she wound down, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"There's no more," she declared firmly. "That must be enough already. Surely your curiosity is," and she quirked an eyebrow suggestively, "satisfied."

Rick grinned appreciatively. "Oh, I think we're going to have to work a little harder to achieve complete ... satisfaction."

"Harder, you say?" she shot back, and bit her lip, making him groan again.

"Harder is not gonna be a problem," he growled.

Kate's eyes were dark and smoky. "Are you done eating yet?"

Now it was his turn to smirk, waggling his eyebrows; and her turn to groan.

"The food, Rick. I meant the food."

"What food?" he gasped, suddenly desperate, as he felt her toes sliding up his leg inside his pants. "Oh god, Kate."

"Come on," and she was already up out of her chair, reaching for him. He surged upward, claiming her mouth again with a deep growl of pleasure.

Their lips had barely come together before she was shoving him up against the wall once again, her mouth sealed to his, her hands eagerly pushing his jacket off. His own hands were no less busy, boldly sliding up under her shirt, discovering to his delight that she wasn't wearing a bra. She moaned into his mouth and lifted one long leg around his hip, her fingers working frantically at his belt.

They managed to make it to the bed for round two, though.

Later, as they were lying sweaty and satisfied in Kate's bed, she said quietly, "Rick, don't take this the wrong way..."

"What?" he asked, turning his head to look at her. She bit her lip and didn't meet his eyes.

"Um, you can't stay." Seeing his eyes widen, she quickly added, "Not that I wouldn't - I mean - it's just that I have to be up really early for the start of my shift."

"You have to work tomorrow?" he said, disappointed. "But it's Saturday."

"Well, police work knows no weekends."

Suddenly solemn, she lifted herself up and away from him, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts. She sat leaning against the headboard, staring away at the opposite wall. Rick sensed that she was working her way up to something, so he sat up too, but held his tongue, waiting.

"I," she began at last. "Um ... I called my dad."

"You did?" he breathed, amazed. The woman was so much stronger than he could ever hope to write her.

"Yeah..." She dipped her chin, still not looking at him. "So we, um, we're going to meet for coffee tomorrow, in the middle of my shift. At my lunch break."

"Wow, Kate." Rick reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Wow, that's ... a big step. That's great."

"Is it?" She turned her face to him now, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. "What if ... what if it's not great? I mean, what if he's..." She clearly didn't know how to finish the sentence, but it wasn't necessary. Rick understood all the many possible endings.

"It'll be better to know than to wonder," he said, softly, but with confidence.

Kate nodded slowly. "That's what I've been telling myself."

"It will."

Rick scooted closer to her on the bed and put his arm around her. "You're so strong, Kate," he murmured into her ear. "I know you don't believe it, but to me it's obvious. You're incredible. Extraordinary."

"Stop it," she choked out, and he saw to his horror that there were tears running down her cheeks.

"Kate-"

"Stop," she said again, turning her face against his chest, hiding behind her hair. Her tears dampened his bare skin. He wrapped both arms around her and held her while she cried.

"I'm sorry," he whispered inanely. "I'm sorry."

After a long while, she calmed down. The tears stopped flowing and she pulled away from him, embarrassed.

"I got you all wet," she muttered guiltily.

"It's okay. I don't mind."

She lifted her head and looked at him again. Her eyes were swollen and reddened, her face damp, hair a messy tangle. She was beautiful.

"You're definitely not what I expected," she said, with a watery chuckle. He laughed softly, relieved.

"That feeling is mutual, Officer."

She made a face and said, "I'm sorry that I ... reacted badly when you asked for my phone number."

"Oh," he said, surprised. "That's okay. I kind of sprang that on you out of the blue."

"Yeah. Well." She turned her face away again, blushing. "Like I said, not what I expected."

He frowned slightly, wondering why she seemed so embarrassed. But suddenly he remembered that conversation in the cabin hallway, and the penny dropped.

"Oh, I get it," he said, smirking. "You only slept with me because you thought you'd never see me again after you left the cabin."

"Shut up," she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Hey, it's okay. Lots of women would love to go to bed with me and then never speak to me again." He paused. "Well, wait, that doesn't sound very flattering when I put it that way."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed, her voice muffled behind her hands.

"Seriously, Kate, it's really okay." He leaned over and tugged at her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face. "I'm not offended. I get it, okay? We both had some unplanned learning experiences up there at the cabin."

She lifted her head reluctantly and looked at him. Her cheeks were still a little pink, but she seemed relieved. "Really? You're not mad?"

"How could I be mad?" he grinned. "I knocked on your door unexpectedly, and you let me in. All the way in," he added, with an eyebrow waggle.

She couldn't help laughing at that one, and rolling her eyes. She shook her head ruefully at him and got up out of the bed, snagging his shirt from the floor to cover herself. "I'll be right back."

While Kate was in the bathroom, Rick lay back down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about serendipity. He believed in fate - yes, as illogical as it was, he did - and so it was no stretch for him to believe that the thunderstorm, which had broken at just the right moment to trap him and Kate together, was a sign from the universe. It may have been foolish of him to think that he would find inspiration in a secluded cabin in the woods, but the hand of fate had intervened to make it happen anyway.

_Dreams do come true,_ he thought, and grinned at how ridiculously sappy it sounded inside his head. Just then Kate came back into the bedroom, looking much more composed and back to herself again.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "Just wondering how I got so lucky."

"Oh, really?" She prowled across the room and crawled onto the bed, looming over him. She had only buttoned one of the buttons on his shirt, leaving the fabric to gape open suggestively as she hovered above him. "I bet I can make you feel even luckier."

"I'll take that bet," he murmured, flicking the button out of its hole and watching the shirt fall open around him.

* * *

Rick didn't want to leave, but Kate had said that he must, and he knew it made sense. She should be rested for her shift at work tomorrow, and her coffee date with Jim.

So at last he reluctantly dragged himself out of her bed and put his clothes back on, watching with regret as Kate did the same.

"So," he said, as she trailed behind him through her apartment toward the door, "tomorrow you're working, and then on Sunday Alexis comes back, but ... I can see you again on Monday. Right?" His heart was in his throat all of a sudden. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that Kate was going to say yes.

And she didn't. "Maybe," she said instead. "I don't have my work schedule for next week yet."

"Oh. Okay." At the door, he pushed his feet into his loafers and put on his jacket, then turned to look at her again. "But if not Monday, then soon?" he asked, almost pleading. "I'll call you? Take you out for a real date? The kind where we actually leave your apartment."

She blushed and smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah. That sounds nice."

"Okay." His heart was singing, leaping, pounding in his chest. "Great."

He leaned down to brush his lips across hers, reaching reluctantly for the doorknob. "Goodnight, Kate."

"'Night," she said, but the corners of her mouth had turned downward, and her eyes were distant. He paused, looking at her with concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed unconvincingly. "Fine."

"You're not fine." He took his hand off the doorknob and touched her shoulder lightly. "Is it - are you worried about tomorrow? Seeing your dad?"

She lifted her eyes to him, frustrated, and he knew he had guessed right. "I don't want to think about it. I don't want to spend all night obsessing."

"Oh." He leaned in again and kissed her, softly, and then again, more firmly. "Can I help?" he rumbled against her mouth.

He was pleased to see her lips turn slowly upward again.

"I suppose you could distract me one more time," she said, her eyes sparking with mischief. "Since you are the master of distraction, after all."

"I would be delighted to assist," he breathed, and dropped his jacket on the floor as she pulled him back to her bedroom again.

* * *

_**(SEVEN MONTHS LATER)** _

"You're sure there aren't gonna be any bears, right?" Alexis asked for the dozenth time as Rick steered the Mercedes along the bumpy road leading to the Beckett cabin. It was a gorgeous sunny day, and the car's windows were open, letting in the fresh spring air.

"There aren't gonna be bears. Don't worry," said Kate from the passenger seat, twisting around to give the little redhead a reassuring smile. "But if we did see one, you and I could definitely outrun it while it was distracted by your dad trying to poke it."

"Hey," Rick protested, but he was grinning, and the giggles coming from the back seat were irresistible.

"So you've never seen a bear up here, ever?" Alexis persisted.

"Never," Kate said firmly. "This one time, when I was about your age, my dad came up here while I was in school to fix the roof. He fell off the ladder and gave himself a black eye and busted lip, but when he came back home, he told me that a bear had attacked him."

"Really?" Alexis gasped.

"Yeah. And I almost believed him, too. Until he added the part where Wonder Woman flew down in her invisible jet and saved him."

"Oh. Yeah, that was a step too far," Alexis tsk'd, shaking her head. "Dads are so silly."

"That's true," Rick agreed, sneaking a concerned glance sideways at Kate, but she just smiled at him.

"It sure is."

Alexis's eyes were bright and curious. "When am I gonna meet your dad, Kate?"

"Alexis-" Rick began, but Kate overrode him, slipping her hand onto his arm in reassurance.

"Soon, I hope," she said lightly. "When he's done with his treatment."

"Oh. You mean when he gets out of rehab?"

Kate huffed in surprise, lifting her eyebrows questioningly at Rick. He shrugged ruefully as he made the turn into the driveway.

"Hollywood mom," he explained.

"Oh, right." Kate nodded, pursing her lips, then turned back to Alexis again. "Yeah, after he gets out of rehab, I'm sure he's gonna love to meet you."

"Okay. And after we see your cabin, you're gonna come to our Hamptons house, right?" Alexis turned a stern eye on her father in the rear-view mirror. "Daddy, you did invite her out there for Memorial Day, right?"

"Of course I did, pumpkin. We can all go out there together for the holiday weekend. That's the plan, as long as Kate doesn't get tired of me in the next few weeks."

"Probably won't happen," Kate murmured, smirking. But her hand slipped over to squeeze his knee, reassuring him.

"Okay," Alexis chirped, bouncing out of the car as soon as it came to a stop. "Oh wow! This is so cool. Look at the grass, it's so pretty! Daddy, I gotta put my bathing suit on."

"Okay, okay," Rick laughed, and popped the trunk. Alexis grabbed her bag and dashed into the cabin.

Rick came around the side of the car toward Kate, pursing his lips, hoping that Alexis's innocent questions hadn't upset her.

It had been a long road for Kate over the past few months, since she began the process of reconnecting with her father and rebuilding their relationship. It didn't help that both Becketts were hot-tempered, quick to go on the defensive, and reluctant to talk about their feelings. But they were both working on it.

Jim's decision to enter a residential rehab center for his alcoholism had surprised Kate, but in a good way. Rick knew that she was trying very hard not to get her hopes up, not to have unrealistically high expectations for what things would be like between them when Jim finished the program.

For his part, Rick had mostly tried to stay out of the way, except for offering Kate his support when she seemed to need it. But at the same time, their relationship had been progressing, and he couldn't stop feeling like the luckiest man on Earth. Not only was he dating this incredible woman, but he had a front-row seat to the process of turning a rookie cop into a seasoned investigator. Almost every day she had a new story to tell him, which was fodder for his writing and also for his ever-growing sense of respect for Kate. She was the strongest person he knew. He'd been excited to introduce her to Alexis, and even more so when the two of them hit it off. He couldn't possibly think of a better role model for his little girl.

So now he could only hope that Alexis hadn't soured things for Kate just as their weekend retreat to the place where they'd met was getting started.

"Hey," he said, slipping his arm around Kate's waist as she got out of the car. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She looked up at him with a little smile. "Fine." Looping her arms around his neck, she added, "She asks almost as many questions as you."

"That's true," he admitted, grinning. Kate stretched up to brush her lips across his.

"But it's okay. It's not upsetting me, see? I'm fine."

He studied her face for a long moment. Her eyes were clear, her expression calm.

"Okay. As long as you're sure."

"I am," she said firmly.

"Good." He leaned down and kissed her more thoroughly, her lips parting willingly under his.

"Eww, you guys, cut it out!"

They broke apart, chuckling. "Sorry," Kate called, grinning, as Alexis bounded down the stairs, her bathing suit already on.

"You can do that later, after I'm asleep," she scolded. "Come on!" She grabbed Kate's hand, pulling her toward the lake. "Show me the boat we can use to escape from the zombies. Daddy told me all about it."

"Oh, he did, huh?" Kate threw a glance at Rick over her shoulder as she followed the eager redhead. "What else did he tell you about this place?"

Rick smiled to himself as he kicked off his shoes and followed them across the grass. Unloading the rest of their bags from the car could wait.

"Just that he met you here, and you made s'mores," Alexis's voice floated back. "And you didn't beat him up, even though you totally could have because you're a badass cop."

Kate laughed, the carefree sound making Rick's heart swell with pleasure. "Maybe I should have."

"You still could!" Alexis said, and without further ado she let go of Kate's hand and raced down the dock and jumped. She hit the water with an enormous splash and surfaced almost immediately, shrieking with delight.

"This is awesome. Daddy, come on!"

"Coming, pumpkin," he called, snaking an arm around Kate's waist and pulling her against him again. "Hey," he said softly, "thanks for coming up here with us."

"No, thank you," Kate replied, turning her head so that her hair shielded her face, the way she did when she was embarrassed by her own emotions. "Somehow you just knew that I needed to get away from the city."

"Just to keep your mind off of things," he shrugged. "Relax a bit." Jim's treatment program had only begun a week ago, and Rick knew that Kate was trying not to let it occupy too much of her mind.

She nodded. "It's good to be here again. And I'm looking forward to showing Alexis around, making some new memories of this place."

"And later, making some new memories of your parents' bed, right?" he murmured into her ear. She blushed and huffed, smacking him lightly on the chest.

" _Rick._ "

"You're so strong, Kate," he said, turning serious again. "You spend all your time being strong, but now we're up here, so you can let it go for a little while."

"You always know what to say," she murmured, and then ducked her head, embarrassed again. He bent down to kiss her cheek, and she turned back, capturing his lips with hers.

"Daaaaaddeeeee! The zombies are gonna get me!"

"How soon can we put her to bed?" Rick mumbled against Kate's mouth. She laughed and pushed him away.

"Come on, Rick. Your daughter's waiting."

He watched in astonishment as Kate stripped off her t-shirt and then her jeans, revealing a skimpy red bikini that hugged her like a second skin, accentuating her curves perfectly.

"You - you've been wearing that this whole time?" he choked, unable to tear his eyes off of her. She was stunning. She was incredible. She was laughing at him.

"Last one in's a rotten egg!" she announced, and took off toward the dock.

By the time he gathered his wits and got himself stripped down to his boxers, his girlfriend and daughter were splashing around in the water together, shrieking with laughter as they fought off imaginary zombies. He plunged in without hesitation and joined the fray.

"This place is awesome," Alexis exclaimed breathlessly, when the game finally wound down and they dragged themselves out of the lake. "You're so lucky, Kate."

"Yeah," Kate agreed, casting a soft smile sideways at Rick. "I really am."

"We all are," he replied, smiling back. "Now, who wants a s'morelet for lunch?"

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
